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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24057355">You could never tell whether you were the monster    (AU)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieRomanoff97/pseuds/SophieRomanoff97'>SophieRomanoff97</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Lives of Little Natasha and her Family [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ABDL, Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Awesome Clint Barton, Awesome Maria Hill, Awesome Natasha Romanov, BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Big Sister Bobbi Morse, Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton-centric, Clint is a sweetheart, Cute, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fainting, Family, Family Feels, Flashbacks, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Infantilism, Injury, Lesbian Maria Hill, M/M, Maria Hill &amp; Natasha Romanov Friendship, Maria Hill Feels, Maria Hill is a Good Bro, Mind Control Aftermath &amp; Recovery, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Joins SHIELD, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Natasha Romanov-centric, Non-Sexual Age Play, POV Clint Barton, POV Natasha Romanov, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Phil Coulson Has the Patience of a Saint, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Avengers (2012), Protective Clint Barton, Psychological Trauma, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Red Room (Marvel), SHIELD, SHIELD Academy, SHIELD Family, Self-Hatred, Team as Family, Triggers, pre-SHIELD, the Red Room Sucks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:14:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,982</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24057355</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieRomanoff97/pseuds/SophieRomanoff97</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>'Natalia had known she was being followed for at least six days, but continued to go about her business as usual. Either the person following her was incompetent and didn’t know how to not get seen, or they were baiting her and appearing as if they had the lower hand by showing themselves on purpose. They could and most likely did know that Natalia knew and were biding their time for attack.'</p><p>A hawk follows Natalia, a fight ensues, trigger words are accidentally spoken and Clint has more on his hands than he bargained for when confronted with a dropped and confused little girl, stuck in the nightmares of her past. </p><p>What's a guy to do? Take her home, of course.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>AU of my little Natasha and her family series, does include age regression so maybe don't click here if that ain't your thing :)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>(no romantic relationships), Bobbi Morse &amp; Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton &amp; Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton &amp; Phil Coulson, Maria Hill &amp; Natasha Romanov, Maria Hill/Bobbi Morse, Nick Fury &amp; Natasha Romanov, Phil Coulson &amp; Natasha Romanov, Phil Coulson/Nick Fury/Melinda May, brief mentions of - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Lives of Little Natasha and her Family [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/893292</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>119</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>358</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Falling Down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey guys! This is an AU of my series Little Natasha And Her Family. It’s AU because in the original timeline, nobody knows Nat is Little until two years into her work at Shield. In this story…well you’ll see. But yes, this is an AU and is a separate entity to my other fics but I’m posting it in this series so those who like my Little fics can still find it :) This one has been in the works for over a year and had been abandoned for as long until now. It's a super long first chapter compared to most of my works, hope ya'll don't mind but I just couldn't stop writing this one. Probably gonna be about 3 chapters? but it's me so realistically, probably more. Whoops.</p><p>TW’s: mentions of murder stuff, Red Room stuff so like…torture, making kids kill, you know the deal. But also Red Room regression stuff so…a lot of bad stuff like making little’s have sex etc, sexual abuse, rape/non-con elements etc. Also regression into her Red Room training and thinking she is back there and trying to do the above things mentioned. Accidentally triggering a drop. Mild self harm. Potential for eating disorder habits. Pain, blood and injuries.</p><p>Basically check out the tags and if any are triggers, feel free to skip this one!</p><p>Fight scenes are really not my speed so I tried my best and skipped some of it sorrrry. Also sorry for any mistakes. I can't remember where I got the title from, probably a quote page somewhere but the chapter title Falling Down is from our very own Scarlett's song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=USiLOQFW3X4</p><p>This one is reaaaaalllllly dark so be careful loves &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Natalia had known she was being followed for at least six days, but continued to go about her business as usual. Either the person following her was incompetent and didn’t know how to not get seen, or they were baiting her and appearing as if they had the lower hand by showing themselves on purpose. They could and most likely did know that Natalia knew and were biding their time for attack.</p><p>She had ran almost three years ago to the day, and every single morning of her life, she wondered if today would be the day they finally caught up with her and tried to take her out. Yes, she had burned the place to the ground but she was an idiot if she thought that meant every single agent of that hellhole was gone.</p><p>She also knew she’d gotten on the radars of multiple organisations and again, it was only a matter of time before one of them either came to take her out or to try and recruit her, though it was unlikely that anyone would try to recruit a Russian spy with ties to one of the most dangerous organisations in the world.</p><p>So taking her out was looking more and more likely.</p><p>Natalia had known it would catch up with her eventually, and had planned and strategized every single day what she would do when that happened. Currently the plan was to finish her mission, go back home, set up a distraction and a trap and leave the country. Sure, leaving as soon as she noticed the tail probably would have been a better idea but she had been planning the mission for two months and was not about to leave before it was completed.</p><p>So that night, she packed up her black bag, slung it over her shoulder and headed out into the cold air of Moscow. The Red Room had sent people all over the world looking for her, but had somehow failed to notice her staying in the same damn country. Until now, that was. Or maybe not, the glimpse she’d gotten of the person’s weapon suggested American, but that could have been an intentional red herring. She wasn’t going to trust anything she saw or heard, she was just going to leave the person trapped and finally leave her home country.</p><p>The Natalia from three years ago, hell even one year ago, would have fired on the tail as soon as she saw him. Would have shot his brains out and continued on with her day like nothing had happened. But current Natalia wouldn’t shoot someone who didn’t shoot first, not if she didn’t already know they were bad news, bad people, like those she was about to get the drop on. Sure, she could end up very dead for her lenience, but she refused to add to the long list of innocent victims she’d taken lives from. It was one hundred percent likely that this person was there to at least hurt her, but until that actually happened, she would not injure them. They could be watching her for information, they could have bad intel and think she would lead them to The Red Room, which could mean they were probably on the side of trying to stop murder psychopath organisations in which case, <em>same.</em></p><p>So no, she wouldn’t fire first, though she had accepted that death could very well be right around the corner. But it had been for as long as she could remember, it was in her DNA, a part of her that would never go away. Death had been hunting her for a long long time, but she wasn’t about to let that fear make her kill someone who might be a good person.</p><p>No more innocent victims.</p><p>…</p><p>Natalia returned in the early hours of the morning, bag back over her shoulder. She entered the apartment, wiping a hand over her forehead, sticky with other people’s blood. Cringing, she dropped the bag heavily, limping over to the table and her discarded water glass from earlier. Wincing and rolling her neck, she took a sip as she moved around the room, turning on the lights, and going to sit down but pausing.</p><p>There had been no sound, no sign of forced entry, though that didn’t mean anything, lock picking was easy. There were no footprints despite the snow outside, nothing leading up to the house, nothing amiss inside the house, but still Natalia knew that this was it. They were here. It was time.</p><p>Sliding the gun out from her pants, she sighed, eyes scanning the small room. “Okay, look, I know you’re here and I’m really not in the mood to play hide and seek so how about you come out and we get this over with?” Natalia was almost certain the man following her wasn’t Russian or even Ukrainian so she broke out the English she rarely had to use anymore. The Red Room had taught her a lot of different languages and she could disguise her natural with ease. Well, adult her could but little her was a bit more difficult.</p><p>There was nothing for a moment, no creaks or footsteps but then suddenly the man was there. A little kid would have been impressed but Natalia knew already where he’d come from in the apartment.</p><p>The logo on the man’s black vest suggested that she’d been right about the attack being from America, though again, possible red herring. He was wearing all black, which was standard across most organisations so it would have been difficult to distinguish the man’s origin had it not been for the logo on his chest and the rough accent he spoke with.</p><p>“Any chance you feel like giving yourself in?” The man asked, twirling a purple tipped arrow at his side. Natalia watched for a second as the item spun around his fingers, things clicking into place.</p><p>“I suppose I should be flattered they sent you.” Natalia said, her voice ice and her expression matching. She sized him up, looking up and down, brain already filtering through each weapon she saw tucked away, mind working to determine his next few moves and the course her body would take. </p><p>“I guess my reputation proceeds me.” The man said carefully, glancing around at the walls of the apartment. His gaze moved back to hers, blue eyes looking right at her. It had been a long time since someone had properly looked at her. “But not as much as yours, little spider.” </p><p>“The Hawk,” Natalia began, voice even and distant, though she wanted to growl and snap at him for daring to use that name, “the trickshot of America, the man pulled from nothing, rising in the ranks of the underground team The Circus. I see you traded in that opportunity for the men in black suits, I hate to say it’s disappointing but well, it is. No over the top suit today?”</p><p>The man watched her. He was good for sure, at disguising things, and his face pulled back in a smile and his voice was cheery when he spoke next. His voice sounded like they’d been discussing something lovely like Christmas, which Natalia had only recently found out about, and not like they were both wasting time before they fought to one of their deaths.</p><p>“Nah, my team wanted this done quietly.” He hummed and Natalia was struck by just how odd the man was, smiling at her, disclosing details of his mission. He was playing some sort of game and Natalia fucking hated games.</p><p>“I see, a little pop in, pop out action, huh? Kill me, destroy my body, make it as if I never lived. Some of my old friends would call that a miracle.” She sneered, taking a small step back. The atmosphere had been building their entire ‘chat’ but Natalia could tell things were about to begin.</p><p>The man’s face twisted, just a little, and Natalia didn’t understand the look in his eyes at all. </p><p>“How old are you?” He asked, the smile having faded from his lips, his eyes bored holes in her body. </p><p>“Guess your ‘team’ was a bit lacking on the information front.” She said instead of answering. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to ask a lady their age? Your momma didn’t teach you better?”</p><p>She could tell that barb had stung, that had been her intention, things were about to get heavy and she needed him as distracted as possible.</p><p>The man’s eyes narrowed and the expression in them morphed from whatever the hell it had been before to anger. That reassured Natalia. She knew anger, understood anger, it was an old friend. Whatever had been in the man’s gaze scared her far more than anger ever would.</p><p>Tired and resigned, Natalia heaved a sigh. “I guess we should begin.”</p><p>They both struck.</p><p>…</p><p><br/>Natalia could taste blood and she couldn’t quite comprehend that she’d been fucking shot in the leg with an arrow like she was stuck in damn medieval times. Because she hadn’t already sprained her fucking ankle on her job earlier that evening, because it wasn’t already fucking hard enough to walk on it, now she had a goddamn arrow sticking all the way through her leg. <em>Awesome.</em></p><p>Sure, she’d managed to shoot the man through the shoulder and he was looking equally as tired but that didn’t mean anything, every last move could be her last.</p><p>Natalia didn’t even know how long she’d been fighting, couldn’t determine her injuries other than the fucking arrow and the fact she’d obviously hit her head, since there was blood in her eyes and her lips</p><p>Head wounds could cause drops, sure, but she’d gotten a handle on that after continuously subjecting herself to them and forcing herself to stay adult through the worst of it. So there was no chance she was about to drop.</p><p>At least there hadn’t been any chance until the man started to try and speak in broken Russian to her, like they were two normal adults, chatting about their days and not two adults fighting to their actual deaths. She figured the Russian was to disarm her, since they both knew the other spoke English.</p><p>“Natalia…brosit’ pistolet.” The Hawk said. Natalia felt her hackles rising. <em>Drop gun.</em> As if he had the authority to say that when he was pointing a bow and arrow in her face.</p><p>She growled, landing another hit, and receiving another hit. Her head hurt, a spike of pain stabbing right at the back of her skull. Natalia realised too slowly that it wasn’t because she’d hit it, it was because he was somehow sliding trigger words into every sentence. </p><p>“Razgovarivat…prosto…padeniye…” <em>Talk…just…drop.</em> The archer circled her, recoiling from a kick headed his way. He didn’t seem to even know what the fuck he was saying to her. The pain crawled up her skull until her entire head throbbed in tandem with her heart. He didn’t fucking know he was using the wrong words.</p><p>“My mozhem govorit’.” <em>We can talk</em>. The man’s accent was awful but Natalia was a little preoccupied with just how badly her head was screaming at her. The fuzziness clawed its way through her veins and she was suddenly, totally, utterly terrified that he was about to trigger a drop.</p><p>“Natalia, padeniye-“ <em>Drop.</em><br/> <br/>Natalia lifted her gun, trained dead centre of the man’s head, her teeth bared, expression wild. She could barely hear over the roaring in her ears. “Stop!” She shouted, finger lowering onto the trigger. She growled, an animal in human skin, about to explode. </p><p>“Bros’ pistolet!” <em>Drop the gun</em> he shouted right back, one hand held up in surrender, as if he was ready to drop his weapon and stop fighting. Unfortunately, the last shouted phrase pushed Natalia over the edge and as hard as she tried, she could not crawl back over that line, she was falling. She was very aware that it was probably about to ensure her death, it was going to be one hell of a panic drop and she doubted she’d even see it through to the end.</p><p>Natalia stumbled backwards, gun still held up to the man. She was about to fall and he was about to finish the job. She didn’t want to die, and he’d triggered her first. She needed to end it, her finger pulling back the trigger.</p><p>She was too fuzzy to even see the expression on the man’s face, the way his eyes hardened and his body tensed, the way he lifted his bow and something hiding deep inside, something Natalia had never seen before. <em>Concern. </em></p><p>Two things happened simultaneously. One, Natalia fired the gun and two, she dropped.</p><p>The man, having rolled away from the bullet, came towards her, knocking the gun from her frozen grasp. He kicked the back of her knees and she landed heavily on them, still frozen, staring at a spot on the ground. Her mind was a cesspool of confusion, of panic, of racing, mushed up thoughts. </p><p>Something heavy settled around her wrists and the man was pulling her across to a table, so the heavy things could attach to one of the legs.</p><p>Handcuffs. Not the ones they usually used, these were thicker, clunkier, heavier.</p><p>“I told you to drop the gun so we can have a chat but no, you had to fire at my damn head.” The man growled, wiping a bloodied hand over his forehead.</p><p>Natalia didn’t speak for a moment, her green eyes hazy and confusedly staring at the same spot. After a minute, she lifted her head. “I’m sorry, Sir.” The man was speaking English so she followed his lead, though hers was far more heavily accented and more childlike than it had before.</p><p>The man blinked from where he’d been prodding at the hole cutting through his shoulder. Brows pulling together, he looked at the woman. “What?” </p><p>“I’m sorry, Sir.” Natalia repeated, “tell me how I can make it up to you, I would hate to lose your business.” She looked up to meet the man’s gaze, teeth sinking into her lower lip, eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks.</p><p>“What the fuck?” The man swore, crouching down in front of her. “Is this some kind of game?”</p><p>“If you want it to be, Sir.” Natalia said softly, tilting her head to the side. “Would you like to play a game? You can play anything you like with me.”</p><p>“Jesus Fucking Christ.” The man sat back on his heels, brows pulled together. It seemed to take him a long time to come to some kind of realisation and when he had, he blew out a breath, eyes slightly shiny. “Oh fuck. <em>Oh fuck.</em> ”</p><p>“Hey, darlin’, how old are you? Can you tell me your age?” The man asked, one hand still curled around his bow, he got close but not too close, eyes searching hers, his body looser compared to the coil of his body minutes before. He seemed concerned, he seemed like he cared, but Natalia knew he didn’t. They never did, it was a game, a trick, used to try and gain her trust so they could ruin it and hold it over her head for the remainder of their time together.</p><p>Sure, it was weird he had a bow, but she’d had a few clients who liked to bring weapons, who liked to bring a whole host of things, some even brought suitcases with them. Natalia was no stranger to items in the bedroom. “How old do you want me to be? I go from a baby to nine, depending on your preference.” She made a zero with her left hand before holding up nine fingers, they seemed to like when she counted for them, she supposed it made her seem more like a child. Her head tilted to the side, her body one of complete submission, even as she tried to hide the unadulterated hate and anger and fear in her eyes. </p><p>Changing her age had been one of the first things she had been taught to do. Sometimes, she faked the age change, she could act it out perfectly. She preferred to do that than actually change her age because it messed with her head and the recovery time was longer and the next time she dropped, she was always confused and not able to recognise some things, she wasn’t able to even know her age or who she was sometimes, not if she’d had to change the age multiple times in one session. So she’d started faking it. None of the client’s noticed a difference. Madame would have, which is why Natalia had taken to only actually changing her age when the woman watched, but otherwise she pretended.</p><p>She had to play the game, she had to pretend she liked it (unless the client wanted it otherwise), she had to act like she wanted it, had to talk like she wanted, but she didn’t have to actually like it. In fact, Madame had literally told her that. </p><p>The man looked like he either wanted to throw up or break something, possibly both. That was strange for sure, but Natalia saw a lot of strange people. “Sir?” She asked softly when the man was silent. She wasn’t supposed to ask questions but she was growing thin on patience, she wanted to get it started and get it done. When she was done, she could play.</p><p>She could choose a toy from the box, maybe even two! She would get her half cup of milk and savour it. She wouldn’t have to share with anyone, it would be all hers. </p><p>Natalia’s eyes were already starting to get far away as she imagined what toy she would choose. The doll with the ringlets? The building blocks? The two cars she could race along the floor? Maybe they’d even have something new, maybe she’d earned a new prize, maybe she’d moved up a level. A level move always meant another perk. An extra ten minutes of play, an extra snack or drink, a new item of clothing and the thing Natalia was always most excited for- a new toy, still in it’s packaging, never played with before. Hers, hers, hers.</p><p>“Darlin’?” The man was talking to her and Natalia lifted glazed eyes from the floor, hands folded neatly in her lap, her back straight. His bow had been put down and he rested his hands against his thighs. He looked nauseous. </p><p>“Yes, Sir, have you decided?” She asked in a soft accented lilt.</p><p>The American’s teeth tore into his lower lip and Natalia inwardly shuddered. The clients who did that were often angry, she’d found, which meant she was likely to get hurt during the session. She hoped to a God she didn’t believe in that she got a new toy after it all. She already hurt so much, her entire being ached, head pounding in tandem with her heart and various parts of her body on fire.</p><p>“I’m not going to hurt you.” The man murmured. “Natalia, I don’t want anything from you.” His voice hinted that he was upset which only fuelled Natalia’s confusion. His tone even shook a little.</p><p>So he was one of them. The ones who pretended to be nice, who acted as if they’d never hurt a child ever in their lives. They were always the most brutal. </p><p>The redhead frowned, tilting her head to the side. “Sir?” She asked, confusion clear on her face as he still didn’t tell her what he expected from her.</p><p>“I don’t want anything from you.” The man repeated, softer this time. If Natalia had seen genuine kindness in her life, she would have known he meant what he said. But she hadn’t, and all she saw was another game being played.</p><p>“Of course you don’t, Sir. Would you like me to show you what I want from you?” Submissive’s were rare, they usually went to Madame for stuff like that, but Natalia had had one once or twice. It was nice, actually, really nice to be the one in charge. It wasn’t real charge, she wasn’t actually in control, the client was, but she was good at pretending.</p><p>But the man didn’t seem happy with that suggestion either, and Natalia was at a loss. If the session was a wash, she wouldn’t get anything. </p><p>The man actually did look very sick and Natalia’s brows crinkled, mouth popping open with confusion. “Are you okay, Sir?”</p><p>The American swallowed hard, but it didn’t seem to help at all because in a few seconds, he was clambering up to his feet and running over to a trashcan to throw up.</p><p>Natalia sat still, hands still in her lap, eyes focused on the man. </p><p>She was very very very confused. </p><p>She felt off, weird, different, something about the man made all the hair on her body stand up, made her own stomach churn, and a little clarity seemed to settle into her mind.</p><p>
  <em>It was wrong.</em>
</p><p>But why was it wrong? It wasn’t because the man was ill, it wasn’t because she hurt, it wasn’t because she didn’t recognize the room they were in as one of the session rooms, it wasn’t because the man seemed nice.</p><p>But it still felt wrong.</p><p>Natalia felt dizzy.</p><p>Brows furrowed, Natalia watched the American heave over the can, his knuckles white where his hands were pressed against his thighs. He took a few heavy breaths, wiping a blood stained hand over his mouth. He swallowed and looked over at her, where she sat with her eyes unfocused and mind going a mile a minute as she tried to understand why everything felt so fucking wrong.</p><p>The man took a step away from the trashcan, and Natalia could see that he was bleeding quite heavily from his shoulder. Her veins filled with ice, a soft shudder running through her.</p><p>She’d hurt him, hadn’t she? Was he not here for the girl, was he here for something else? Was she supposed to kill him? Or had she hurt him accidentally? If that was the case, if he really was a client and she’d hurt him when he didn’t want to be hurt, she was in so so so much trouble. The consequences would be brutal and she would suffer for days until they decided her punishment was over. Except it would never be over because that would be another mark on her documents, another wrong move, another reason they should cancel her before she was even sent out in the world.</p><p>Chest tight, Natalia tried to force her scrambled brain to focus. She had to figure out what she’d done and whether she was supposed to do that. </p><p>She was in so much trouble.</p><p>The American pulled something from a strap around his calf and Natalia instantly braced herself for the use of whatever weapon he had chosen. She didn’t flinch, didn’t even move, but her eyes followed him like a hawk.</p><p>It wasn’t a weapon she’d ever seen before, it was pretty small, had what looked like numbers on it and with confusion, she watched as the man held the device to his ear and began to talk into it. It wasn’t like any communication device she’d used before, they hadn’t taught her how to use whatever it was.</p><p>“I need a jet here.” The man was saying, haunted eyes watching the girl carefully. “I don’t care about that, fucking listen for once, Phil.” </p><p>Who was Phil? What the hell was going on?</p><p>“No, you need to send Maria, I don’t care if she’s working on another mission, this one is more important. Phil…Phil, I literally don’t care, I’ll deal with that when I get back. I don’t…Phil, listen.” The man was getting very frustrated and Natalia automatically tried to retreat backwards. She hurt so much already, could she just go one day without a client wanting to hurt her?</p><p>“She’s not…fucking Christ, Phil, no she’s not fucking faking it. How do I know? Because I fucking do. You have no idea what I just heard so don’t even go there. I don’t give a shit if your intel didn’t mention this, I’m telling you this is happening. Either you send a jet here for both of us or I find a way back on my own still with both of us.” His voice was almost a growl. </p><p>
  <em>Both of us?</em>
</p><p>Where was she going? She’d heard rumours of course about the parties. The ones where girls would be picked from a catalogue and sent to lavish parties and gatherings, but she’d never been chosen, they preferred to use the older girls, the ones that looked older, acted older, in case someone unwanted worked their way into the parties. Was that where they were going?</p><p>The man finished on his device and took a step towards the girl. After a moment to regain his composure, he knelt down in front of her. His eyes dropped lower than Natalia had been anticipating and that time, she couldn’t control the shudder of her body. Her teeth sank into her lower lips as a slightly shaky breath left her mouth.</p><p>Of course he was looking there, they always did, of course he was imagining what she would…startled, Natalia realised the man wasn’t looking where she’d thought at all. Instead his furrowed features and harrowing gaze was firmly stuck on her leg. More importantly her bloodied leg, more importantly still, her injured leg with an arrow literally sticking through it.</p><p>Pain hit Natalia like a freight train and she vaguely felt like throwing up too as she stared at the tip jutting out from her calf. How had she not noticed that? How had that happened? </p><p>Gods, it hurt so badly.</p><p>She didn’t whimper, she never whimpered, but she did grit her teeth, hands balling into fists, more stuttered breaths leaving her lips. Her body was tight and tense, curled in on herself a little as the pain from her wound completely registered in her brain.</p><p>White hot agony clawed its way up her skin, through her veins and her vision temporarily exploded with stars. She was pretty sure she was gasping, at least a little, hearing coming and going in waves.</p><p>The next thing she was aware of was the American, his features pinched and his eyes holding the worry she’d never thought she’d see. “You’re okay, darlin’, just try and take a deep breath. I’m going to help, okay? I’m going to patch you up, help with the pain, just look at me.” </p><p>Natalia wasn’t sure she could look away even if she wanted to. Something about him captivated her, pulled her in, he was looking at her so intensely it was impossible to pull her gaze away. The emotions he wore were ones Natalia didn’t think she had ever seen in her life, they were strange and terrifying and wonderful.</p><p>Where was she? Something was so so so wrong. She didn’t understand, everything hurt and her brain was a fuzzy mush and she was desperately tired. She wanted to be done. She was ready to be done.</p><p>
  <em>Please just get it over with, whatever it is. Please.</em>
</p><p>The man held out a hand, eyes looking right through her.</p><p>“I’m going to help. I promise.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Falling Down: Clint's POV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey hey hey!!! I was going to carry on with the next thing in the timeline but then I thought hey I feel like we need to see Clint's POV so here it is! I hope you like it</p><p>TWs same as the first chapter</p><p>I'm so so happy with the response this story has gotten! I was hesitant because of the nature of it and the gravity of what I was including but I'm so glad you guys are liking it! Thank you all so much &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clint had been following the woman for six days, gathering intel. That in itself had been him going off mission from the very beginning. It was supposed to be a quick job, an in and out so the woman wouldn’t see it coming. </p><p>But from the moment he’d set eyes on the redhead woman, still barely a full adult, he’d changed the plans on the spot. He’d been through almost ten debriefs and strategy planning's before any of his superiors had thought he was ready for it, he was told she was that dangerous. Never in his time at Shield had one person caused such a raucous, taken such a long time to plan for.</p><p>Clint knew the woman was dangerous, was a murderer (but weren’t they all?), had seen writings and pictures and recordings, hundreds of them. Shield had somehow managed to get ahold of an original Red Room video. It was more of a portfolio, a resume, than a training video. Apparently people paying for the group’s work liked to see what they were getting.</p><p>The footage had been degraded and all audio was missing but the images had been clear enough. She had taken out ten opponents in mere minutes without landing a scratch on her. She was deadly, ruthless, a ticking time bomb.</p><p>She also seemed sad.</p><p>Looking back, that was probably when Clint’s mission had changed fully.. When he saw the expression on her face, the cold, empty stare of someone blocking out everything they had just done. A stare that Clint knew too well, a stare that had Clint sitting in his room, eyes fixed on that video, for hours at a time.</p><p>The archer understood the importance of stopping the woman, but he also couldn’t help the pull to her. Why did they have to kill her? Wouldn’t she be amazing working for them? A team of ten could be replaced by that one woman. He’d tried to voice that to Phil, but it had fallen on deaf ears. </p><p>Clint was to take her out, end of. So he agreed and he shut up and he stopped talking about letting the woman live and then he set out to Russia.</p><p>He’d first found her at a downtown market. At that early stage, he was sure he hadn’t been spotted yet. He hid, kept his distance, all the while doing what he did best; getting up high and observing.</p><p>He knew deadly murderers had to eat but still, seeing the woman from the blood soaked video, buying chocolate from a local seller, sent his head in a spin. Clint watched as she pocketed the chocolate bar and continued strolling down the street. She had on a brown wig and a hood pulled low over her face and she looked just as sad as she had on the footage.</p><p>She rounded a corner into an empty alleyway and the hawk followed, crouching on a roof across the street to see what she would do next. The black widow surveyed the alleyway before pressing her back against the wall. She let out a breath and closed her eyes for the smallest of seconds. When she opened them again, she pulled the chocolate from her pocket.</p><p>Honestly, Clint had half expected it to be some sort of weapon, or a secret message to be inside the wrapper. But the woman simply opened the packaging, stared at the treat for a few seconds before beginning to eat. Though eat was a mild term for what was more wolfing down food in a matter of seconds. </p><p>When the chocolate was gone, the widow crumpled up the packet, wiped her mouth, and smiled. </p><p>It was that smile that did it for Clint. </p><p>She looked…overjoyed. She looked content. She looked happy.</p><p>Clint loved chocolate as much as the next guy but he was pretty sure he’d never been that ecstatic over a candy bar. And he was hardly the world’s healthiest eater but he was struck with the sudden and overwhelming notion that he hoped that hadn’t been her dinner. </p><p>Why on earth did he want to sit a dangerous murderer down and make her some actual fucking food? God, he was losing it.</p><p>That had been the first day.</p><p>The second had solidified his plan, and third and fourth and fifth had him straying further and further from the mission. Phil was riding his ass about it and even Fury had gotten involved when he’d ignored his handler’s phone check in. </p><p>What kind of ruthless, psychopathic killer, stopped to stroke and feed stray cats on the street? What kind of awful person dropped off coffee to the homeless man who sat on the corner every sunrise? What kind of monster helped a lost little girl find her mother?</p><p>The answer to those seemed simple to Clint. A ruthless, awful, psychopathic monster didn’t. A girl who had been kidnapped and tortured and brainwashed her whole life wasn’t inherently a bad person. She was just a human being.</p><p>Shield had their information wrong.</p><p>Not once in those six days had he seen any monster behaviour. She hadn’t hurt anyone, hadn’t attacked anyone, killed anyone, even said a bad word to anyone. Shield had told him all the people this woman had killed in cold blood, the good people she’d hurt and murdered but by the sixth day, Clint was sure.</p><p>She had a reason for the deaths, and he was certain the ‘good’ guys she’d brutally stabbed and shot and strangled, hadn’t been so fucking good after all.</p><p>Not only had she done so many nice things and nothing untoward, Clint knew the widow knew he was watching, following, and she’d left him be. He was under no impression that the monster Shield had told him she was would have killed him dead the first second she saw him.</p><p>But when he watched her from her home, he saw plans scribbled hastily, a black bag prepped with weapons, a resigned woman doing her duty. She was going to complete whatever work she had left and Clint was sure instead of hurting him, the woman planned to flee.</p><p>So the archer bided his time until that mission rolled around and she left the house with that black bag. He followed her into the warehouse, praying she had a good reason for it, praying she wasn’t going to murder innocent people.</p><p>He’d been right. He’d been so fucking right. </p><p>Because the widow went into that warehouse alone and came out with six young girls, beaten and bloody and half dressed.</p><p>She’d saved them.</p><p>…</p><p>Hawkeye got back to the woman’s apartment before she did. He’d been watching for hours, and it would have made more sense for him to actually go inside the warehouse to observe, there was every chance she would never return home after the mission was complete. Honestly though, Clint hadn’t wanted to get in the way of Natalia’s plans. </p><p>It was clear she’d been strategizing for at least a week, probably longer, and even before he’d seen the young girls come out, he’d had a feeling deep in his gut that told him whatever she was doing was important. </p><p>It wasn’t his right to go in there, maybe distract her, maybe catch the attention of whatever was in there. He didn’t know the layout, didn’t know camera placements, amount of bodies inside. They were excuses, really, and he would have admitted that to himself if he wasn’t so stubborn. It had nothing to do with not knowing what waited inside, that kind of mission was common, it all came back to the widow.</p><p>After Natalia brought the girls out, Hawkeye watched her six, clearly only looking out for the children and not the redhead, obviously he only cared about their wellbeing and not the woman’s. </p><p>Yeah, even to himself, that sounded like the biggest pile of bullshit ever.</p><p>After he was fairly certain no one was going to come after Natalia, Clint booked it straight back to her apartment where he let himself in, hid and waited.</p><p>…</p><p>“Okay, look, I know you’re here and I’m really not in the mood to play hide and seek so how about you come out and we get this over with?”</p><p>She was<em> good</em>.</p><p>Clint was struck with the realization that that was the first time he was hearing her speak. He’d been expecting the woman to speak English, they were apparently taught that from the moment they arrived at the Red Room but he’d also been expecting an accent. Not even a full on heavy Russian voice, but even a tinge of it. But there was no way, if Clint hadn’t known who she was, he would have ever believed she was anything but American.</p><p>He was pretty sure even Bobbi Morse couldn’t pull that and she spoke like ten languages or something ridiculous.</p><p>Clint lowered himself from his hiding place and silently headed to the room they were about to have a showdown in. The widow sized him up and he returned the favour. It was strange. Seeing someone up close for the first time after observing from such a distance. His eyesight had always been better than his hearing so it wasn’t as if seeing her expression up close and personal was that much of a difference than the last six days.</p><p>Except…it was.</p><p>The woman in front of him had THE best poker face he’d ever seen, and he came from a job that held the world’s best spies, poker faces were their forte, but damn. Looking into those green eyes, Clint had no idea whatsoever about how the woman felt. She could have been terrified, angry, gleeful, literally anything was possible at that point.</p><p>That was how she’d appeared for most of the time Clint had been observing. He was fairly sure the moment in the alleyway had been the only minutes Natalia hadn’t known she was being followed. That had been the only time he’d seen the slightest hint of emotion. The sadness, the exhaustion on her features, the overwhelming happiness at the candy bar. </p><p>And since then, since she’d known he was there, nothing.</p><p>Clint absently fiddled with one of his arrows, the pair’s eyes never once leaving their mark. Clint took a breath, cleared his throat, and said, “Any chance you feel like giving yourself in?” The archer already knew the answer but hey, the offer was there.</p><p>Natalia tilted her head, eyes flicking to the logo on his chest, the colour of the arrowhead, the thigh where he kept his holster, his calves where knives sat tucked away, the waistband of his pants where his second revolver lay. Her expression didn’t change, but it appeared she’d made some sort of connection.  “I suppose I should be flattered they sent you.”</p><p>“I guess my reputation proceeds me.” Clint hummed, shrugging a shoulder as he skimmed the room. It was always best to rule out outside threats apart from the woman. Some people liked to set traps. He’d once been on a mission where it had literally been like living in the Home Alone movie. </p><p>He clicked his tongue as his gaze returned to the woman. “But not as much as yours, little spider.”</p><p>Clint may have noticed a slight change in her eyes at that, but it was likely he was imagining it, wanting to see emotion.</p><p>“The Hawk,” Natalia’s voice was clipped and ice cold. “the trickshot of America, the man pulled from nothing, rising in the ranks of the underground team The Circus. I see you traded in that opportunity for the men in black suits, I hate to say it’s disappointing but well, it is. No over the top suit today?” So either the widow had done her research, only knew the group by name and was pretending to know more, or she’d had dealings with them in the past.</p><p>Knowing his former homes track record, the third option was more likely.</p><p>He smiled, teeth showing, feeling ridiculously like he wanted to laugh, all the while the arrow span in his fingers. Natalia would take that movement as his being nervous, or him getting ready to fire it at her. He wanted to keep her guessing, had to try and think moves ahead, but man he was fucking terrible at chess, Phil beat him everytime.</p><p>“Nah, my team wanted this done quietly.” Clint murmured, tapping the arrowhead against his thigh. He continued to smile like they were friends chatting about the weather. </p><p>“I see, a little pop in, pop out action, huh? Kill me, destroy my body, make it as if I never lived. Some of my old friends would call that a miracle.” And man had that gotten dark fast. The woman took a step back and Clint’s grip immediately tightened on his arrow, the movement of it coming to a standstill. She was readying herself for attack.</p><p>Clint’s smile dropped, heart pounding a little harder. He frowned, stomach dropping, hairs standing on end. She really was waiting for him to kill her. She was expecting him to attack with the aim of killing her and then what? Literally making her body disappear? <em>Jesus.</em></p><p>He swallowed, head tilting a little to the side. The reports, the information packets, the videos, had all given her age but now, standing here in front of her, Clint was pretty sure they all had it wrong. He’d been told she was an adult, barely, but still an adult but now he was questioning if she was even of legal age.</p><p>Without forethought, without thought of consequence, Clint asked “how old are you?”</p><p>Natalia snapped back at him immediately, almost sneering. “Guess your ‘team’ was a bit lacking on the information front.” And yeah, that had not been an answer at all. If you knew someone knew everything about you, including height and age and probably weight, you wouldn’t be hiding how old you were because they would already know. That was beyond not reassuring. </p><p>“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to ask a lady their age? Your momma didn’t teach you better?” Yeah, she’d done her research but not even Shield had that information on their databases. Phil and Nick knew but it had been kept off record, not even a redacted version of that part of his past existed. She was <em>good</em>, really fucking good.</p><p>Clint’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t angry about the comment about his mother, but he was angry. He didn’t know why, didn’t understand it, but he was. Maybe it was anger at Shield sending him on a mission to kill a spy who’s talent was beyond anyone working for them. Maybe it was anger towards the Red Room and what they had done to this woman, girl really, if he was correct about her age being off. </p><p>It didn’t matter because the widow’s jaw was set and her body was tense and Clint knew it was about to go down. He grit his teeth, wanting to stop the fight before it even began but knowing that was an impossible task.</p><p>Natalia looked right through him, sighed in such an exhausted way Clint began to feel a little sick, and said, “I guess we should begin.</p><p>…</p><p>Clint was seriously beginning to flag. They’d been at it for longer than he could comprehend. They were both injured, pretty evenly so actually, and it had been a lot of to and fro in terms of landing blows. But he was beginning to waver more than the widow, she clearly had an amazing amount of stamina, and the power behind her moves barely ever faltered.</p><p>He’d been literally shot through the shoulder and though, somehow, there wasn’t much damage inside, as far as gunshot wounds went, he was bleeding all over the place. When he was done, that apartment was going to be a bitch to clean.</p><p>They hadn’t spoken the whole time but as Clint began to grow weary, he decided to change tactics. He knew basics in a few languages and had had a few extra lessons before the mission, but he was in no way skilled. He butchered the accent and pronunciation, but hopefully his words would be understood. </p><p>“Natalia…” He began carefully, slamming to his knees and rolling out the way of a rather pointy knife. He didn’t know where she kept pulling the different weapons from, but the gun was certainly the most pressing one he had to get away from the woman. “Brosis’ pistolet.” He grunted out.<em> Drop the gun.</em> If he could just get them to stop attacking each other for one fucking minute.</p><p>Sure, his arrow was pointed right at her, but it wasn’t as if he was going to drop it. Not unless she showed signs of dropping her own weapon. </p><p>Natalia growled and the next blow she landed on him was enough for him to see stars. She was clearly not happy with him <em>at all</em>. He still held his bow but he had yet to attack her again, on the defensive.</p><p>“Razgovarivat…prosto…padeniye…” He grunted out, sliding away from a well aimed kick at his head. <em>Talk…just…drop.</em> Yeah, he really needed to pay more attention in linguistics class, fucking hell. If anything, his attempt at Russian seemed to make her even angrier because nice going, Barton.</p><p>“My mozhem govorit.” <em>We can talk</em>. Was it likely she would drop everything to talk? Hell no, but he had to try something else otherwise the fight would drag on and on and it would probably be him who went down first.</p><p>“Natalia, padeniye-“ <em>Drop</em>. There was every chance he sounded more like he was begging than asking now but it didn’t matter because whatever he said had made the widow more furious than he’d seen before. Not just furious though, animalistic was more the right word. Wild and uncontained and…scared?</p><p>Clint didn’t have time to puzzle that one out because what could have tentatively been called ‘fighting without intent to kill’ had suddenly turned into the barrel of a gun being pointed at his forehead in what would be a fatal blow.</p><p>“Stop!” She shouted, growling really, her expression one of pure panic and pain. </p><p>Clint took a step back and immediately held his hands up. He didn’t drop the bow but it was now pointed at the ceiling and not at the woman. He was filled with the realization that he was about to die. Fucking hell, he’d been riding Coulson’s ass for weeks about the mission and they hadn’t departed on the best of terms. Was that going to be Phil’s last memory of him?</p><p>The archer felt numb, not frozen because freezing meant certain death, but more numb than someone about to die should have been. He tried a last ditch attempt to reach her, and this time he was <em>definitely</em> begging her.</p><p>“Bros’ pistolet!” <em>Drop the gun</em>. Please, just drop the fucking gun.</p><p>Clint’s life didn’t flash before his very eyes or any bullshit like that, but he was aware of how the life he’d led had took him to that very place. He didn’t think he’d change a thing. Even though the widow’s grip tightened on the gun and her finger pressed down on the trigger and it was still pointed right at his forehead. He tensed, jaw tight, still not lifting his weapon. There was something going on with the woman. Something big and awful and he couldn’t comprehend why a woman about to end his life would look so lost, so devastated, so exhausted and so fearful.</p><p>She fired the gun.</p><p>Clint reckoned there had been about a .1 percent chance he would be able to move away in time. And somehow, some fucking how, he succeeded. He ducked and he rolled and the bullet whizzed past his ear so quickly his head rang with the vibration. It lodged in the wall beside him, and Clint forced his body to move.</p><p>Natalia had stood still after her attack, she didn’t fire the second or third or fourth bullet Clint had been anticipating. She’d frozen, eyes not even looking at him but looking at a spot on the floor behind him.</p><p>He knocked the gun from her hand and it came easily, she hadn’t fought to keep ahold of it, was letting it happen. He swung a kick at the back of her legs and she went down heavily onto her knees, still frozen. He pulled cuffs from his belt, dragging the woman to a table and attaching them to the leg. </p><p>He rubbed at his forehead, blood dripping into his eye. He took a breath and exhaled it out shakily. Jesus, he’d nearly fucking died. <em>Again</em>. “I told you to drop the gun so we could have a chat but no, you had to fire at my damn head.”</p><p>And then the widow slowly lifted her head and glazed green eyes that were not present at all looked up into his own as she said something that both scared the shit out of Clint and horribly confused him at the same time.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Sir.” The whole tone of her words had changed. Not only were they more accented, more Russian, they also had the strangest lilt to them. They were softer, more hesitant, younger, and it sent Clint’s hackles rising immediately.</p><p>He dropped his hand from his shoulder, where he’d been absently watching the blood ooze from the wound, brows furrowing. “What?” Seemed to be about the only response he could muster to one hell of a weird turn of events.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Sir.” The widow said again, words softer still. “Tell me how I can make it up to you, I would hate to lose your business.” And then, in case that hadn’t been weird or disturbing enough, Natalia bit into her lower lip and fluttered her eyelashes at him in the way two ordinary people flirting did.</p><p>
  <em>The fuck???????</em>
</p><p>“What the fuck?” And yeah it was hardly eloquent but literally what the fuck was happening. He got down in front of her, searching her wandering gaze, something dark welling inside him at her stare. “Is this some kind of game?”</p><p>“If you want it to be, sir.” Her head tilted to the side and Clint literally had no idea what she was doing at that stage. If she’d wanted to use flirtation, surely that would have been her play from the get go. “Would you like to play a game? You can play anything you like with me.” </p><p>“Jesus fucking Christ.” Those last words stunned Clint into silence and he realized why it felt so unsettled. It was because her tone hadn’t just been younger, it had been childish. It was because she was flirting with him, but not for fun. It was because she used the word game and coming from her mouth and not his, reminded him of Shield. Not Shield specifically, but some of the people who worked there. They reminded him of the littles. The kids asking to play with the toys, to play tag, to race cars, to read a story.</p><p>Nausea welled up in him so quickly and so violently he clamped his mouth shut because he was certain he was about to throw up all over the place. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, on the verge of tears, because this wasn’t an adult interacting with him, it was a child.</p><p>“Oh fuck. <em>Oh fuck</em>.” He gasped out, stomach clenching, hairs standing on end, bile in his throat. She was a child. She was little. </p><p>She was little and she was flirting with him. She was little and asking him to play a game and he knew damn well this game didn’t involve cars or dolls. She was little and she was treating him like he was about to have sex with her, like it was some weird fucking foreplay.</p><p>She was a little.</p><p>That was why her age felt so off.</p><p>He swallowed hard and forced himself to find his voice. It undeniably cracked when he spoke next. “Hey, darlin’, how old are you? Can you tell me your age?” He shuffled closer, trying to make himself seem smaller, less intimidating. He felt off kilter and untethered.</p><p>“How old do you want me to be? I go from a baby to nine, depending on your preference.” She held her fingers up to represent the numbers, just like when the little’s played number games at daycare. He was for sure going to be sick at some point. His blood boiled, filled with fire. How fucking dare they do that to her, how fucking dare they take a child and use them like that, how dare they use children for solicitation. </p><p>How fucking dare they.</p><p>He’d apparently been too silent for too long because the woman…the girl, was looking at him strangely. “Sir?” She whispered, voice holding an edge. Fear, Clint supposed. Those eyes wandered again, glassy and distant and the archer knew she wasn’t present in that room, not really. </p><p>“Darlin’?” Clint murmured after a moment of silence.</p><p>The girl blinked and looked back at him, the picture of composure, of innocence. “Yes, Sir, have you decided?”</p><p>Clint’s teeth burrowed into his lip so hard he could taste blood and feel the drip of it down his jaw. “I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice was weak and soft. “Natalia, I don’t want anything from you.” He insisted.</p><p>“Sir?” The girl asked, brows furrowed in confusion. </p><p>“I don’t want anything from you.” Clint said, voice barely a whisper, his heart pounding frantically in his chest. Her gaze now held a different edge, one of hope and he wouldn’t understand why until a moment later.</p><p>Because the girl said “Of course you don’t, sir. Would you like me to show you what I want from you?” And suddenly he understood why she’d been hopeful.</p><p>The girl thought he wanted her to take control, have the power over him. She was hopeful because she would be the one in charge, hurting him, and not the other way around.</p><p>Clint’s ears rang as more bile churned in his stomach and up his throat. He felt like he couldn’t breathe once more, like it couldn’t possibly be real. This girl could not be sitting in front of him, happy because she would be the leader in whatever sex game she was anticipating. The thought of the girl needing to be happy about something like that threw his stomach over the edge.</p><p>He hastily and clumsily clambered to his feet, barely making it to the trash can in time to throw up everything his stomach held. He gripped his knees, unable to stop wave after wave of his body revolting against something so awful he was sure he’d never stop thinking about it.</p><p>His heart ached. No, his heart shattered.</p><p>Taking a breath, Clint wiped his mouth and gingerly unfurled his body. He watched the girl. She was quiet and still and it looked like she was holding her breath. Her body had begun to shook finely as that once again empty stare looked at nothing.</p><p>Mind made, Clint slid his phone from his calf and immediately dialled his handler. They weren’t staying there. Natalia wasn’t staying there.</p><p>“I need a jet here.” He couldn’t keep the poison from leaking into his tone. He’d known all along the mission was wrong. All along.</p><p>“Is the mission complete? The widow?”</p><p>“I don’t care about that, fucking listen for once, Phil.” He growled, anger seeping into his every word. Coulson had sent him there, made Clint do this, and it was time he finally fucking took note of what Clint had been saying all along. </p><p>“Is the mission complete?”</p><p>“No, you need to send Maria, I don’t care if she’s working on another mission, this one is more important. Phil…”</p><p>The agent on the other end continued to talk and not listen and Clint was done. “Phil…Phil, I literally don’t care, I’ll deal with that when I get back. I don’t…Phil, listen.” And then he explained, quickly, briefly, that the woman he’d been sent to kill was little. She was dropped, and she needed help.</p><p>And then Phil asked if it was possible she was faking it to get the jump on him. </p><p>“She’s not…fucking Christ, Phil, no she’s not fucking faking it. How do I know? Because I fucking do. You have no idea what I just heard so don’t even go there. I don’t give a shit if your intel didn’t mention this, I’m telling you this is happening. Either you send a jet here for both of us or I find a way back on my own still with both of us.” And he hung up.</p><p>He took a step towards the girl, trying to take an even breath, trying to work his expression into something different. As he watched her, his eyes slid down to her leg. In the midst of it, he’d forgotten they were both injured. And whilst he didn’t have a bullet in his shoulder, Natalia sure as hell had an arrow in her calf.</p><p>She watched and matched where his gaze headed and her whole body tightened, she stopped breathing and her eyes filled with something Clint didn’t understand. Did she…fucking hell, did she think he was checking her out?</p><p>He was going to be sick again.</p><p>But then she looked down at her leg too and it was as if realization hit her all at once. Her eyes widened, filled with pain and emotion. She stared at her leg like it wasn’t her own, a gasping breath escaping her lips. Her hands turned into fists and she continued to gasp quietly in the silence of the apartment.</p><p>Clint moved. Kneeling in front of her, he tried to keep her from moving her injured leg, his face pinched with agony. He’d done that. He’d hurt her. A girl, a child, was in pain because of him. “You’re okay, darlin’, just try and take a deep breath.” He forced himself to take one too, trying to ease her gaze from her leg. “I’m going to help, okay? I’m going to patch you up, help with the pain, just look at me.” He said softly.</p><p>She looked at him. And she looked and she looked and she looked, not moving her gaze an inch. Clint awarded her the same, his mind filtering through the myriad of shit in her eyes. He tried to convey submission, convey honesty, convey he wasn’t going to hurt her, that he really was going to help.</p><p>Clint swallowed and he held out his hand to the girl, slowly, so he didn’t startle her. He cleared his throat and reached for her hand, looking right at her as he said,</p><p>“I’m going to help. I promise.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. what name do you like?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi it's been a while. so long in fact that when I got here I was logged out. I won't bore anyone, shit happens, things are rough y'know. Enjoy! Sorry for mistakes and words that might not be right- brain fog sucks</p><p>I realise this is slow burn-y and I'm writing more words for chapters than I have before, I hope that's okay, I'm really liking doing something more slow paced and intricate.</p><p>TW's: blood, medical stuff, past abuse, vague suicide notions? like not wanting to commit suicide but not caring if you die kinda thing</p><p>Yes Alexandra is my middle name and yes I did sneak it in here</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Natalia gasped softly as the waves of pain washed over her, teeth grinding together in a way that would make her mouth hurt a lot later. The American was still holding out his hand and Natalia didn’t know why, couldn’t comprehend why, didn’t understand why he was holding it out. She also had no idea why she took it.</p><p>His fingers were warm and calloused and it was then Natalia realized how cold she was. It was like he was the sun and she was leeching the heat from his hand, desperate. She was pretty sure she’d always been cold, always remembered the bite of the air around her, whether in bed or training or when she had to stand outside all night instead of being allowed inside because she’d messed up a shot. Had she ever felt the warmth of sun on her face? Had she ever truly been warm? And not just curled under the blanket, breathing on her numb, blue finger-tipped hands, warm, but properly warm?</p><p>The idea of not being cold constantly was terrifying. And…elating? Would she finally shake the chill from her bones? The fatigue of her body using it’s energy to keep her alive, would it go away? She’d felt warmth once; flames licking at her feet, the heat scorching against her face, her clothes singed as she was pulled from the fire of her old life and thrust into her new one. The idea of warmth had scared her. Warmth meant fire and fire meant death. </p><p>Didn’t it?</p><p>But God, he was so warm, and she wanted wanted wanted more of it, all of it, every last bit of it.</p><p>The archer didn’t seem to think it was so normal.</p><p>“Okay,” The American breathed softly, trying to smile at her. “I think first we get you a little warmer, do you have any blankets?” </p><p>Natasha frowned. Blankets, plural? And why was he worried about her being cold? Did he think she was in shock? Was she in shock? She was shaking, but that could have been a number of things. And she was fuzzy, but she had just been triggered into a drop so it was probably just that.</p><p>“Uh…” The girl stammered, flinching at the voice in head shouting that she had to be eloquent, <em>she couldn’t just be a pathetic street urchin with no manners her whole life. She had to speak properly, like a lady, or she would be left in the dust. </em></p><p>“I have…my sheet. From my bed.” Natalia said quietly. Bed was putting it nicely. It was more a mat on the floor. The only reason she had the mat and didn’t just sleep on the floor was because she had realized it helped her body recover from the pain of her muscles more quickly than bruising her already hurting body on the cold concrete. </p><p>The American looked at her funny, and she had no idea why. Maybe he’d just grown up with blankets and was confused as to why she only had a sheet. It didn’t really matter.</p><p>“Okay, sheet on the bed. If I go and get it are you going to stay here?” His thumb absently brushed over the back of her hand and she realized that bar her old friend in the bed next to her, no one had ever touched her for comfort. It was jarring. “I just mean…” The American continued, “that I don’t want you to hurt your leg any more, so it’s very important you keep it as still as possible.”</p><p>Natalia swallowed and cocked her head to the side a little, brows pulled together. He could just have been a good liar. There were a hundred reasons he could want her to stay on the floor, hand-cuffed to her table, and most of them were not good. But maybe it really was just so she wouldn’t hurt her leg more. </p><p>She was finding that as the seconds dragged on, she was filled with more and more confusion, more uncertainty. She knew what the intentions behind Madame’s words and actions were, she knew what every single change in tone meant, what every miniscule movement meant, but with the American…she had no clue.</p><p>Natalia found herself wanting to trust him. Which was a very very bad thing to do. She couldn’t trust anyone but herself, couldn’t rely on anyone but herself, but her leg really did hurt and she was starting to doubt the cold was the normal cold she dealt with. She didn’t feel good.</p><p>The girls had all had many drugs forced into their veins over the years. Some died from them, some lived. Natalia had lived through every drug test they’d given her and one had done something to her immune system. It wasn’t that useful but it did keep her from getting sick. From colds or the flu or anything like that. It didn’t however keep her from getting sick from injuries, and she was pretty sure that’s what was happening.</p><p>“I’ll stay.” She said quietly, meekly. She could have gotten out the cuffs and been out of there at that point anyway, so something inside her wanted to stay or he would have never seen her again.</p><p>The American (and no, Natalia really didn’t remember his name so she guessed she’d keep calling him that) smiled and nodded, giving her hand a quick squeeze before gently resting it against her thigh. He stood and disappeared through the door. He was so quick she doubted she would have had time to even wriggle out of the cuffs before he was back anyway. He grabbed his black bag, discarded on the floor, and brought that and the sheet over to her.</p><p>First though, he did something surprising, something that once again spurned her desire to trust, because he unlocked the metal around her wrists. </p><p>Natalia watched him carefully, waiting for something else to happen. For him to grab her wrist instead, for him to force her up and over to the couch, for him to attack. But none of that happened. He just shoved the cuffs into his bag and pulled out a black box. </p><p>Absently rubbing at her wrist, Natalia watched each thing come out the box. Those things were familiar, she’d been patched up more times than she could count. Pliers, sewing needle, tweezers, gauze, bandages, band aids, little glass vials. </p><p>The American lay each item down on the floor before reaching for the sheet he’d taken from her bed. He leaned in and Natalia held her breath, body tensing against it’s own volition. But all he did was wrap it around her shoulders, letting the corners drape over her chest where she could hold it in place. He swept her hair out from the sheet, which was nice, because it had actually been pulling in it a little bit.</p><p>The archer swallowed and Natalia could tell he was nervous. Not in his medical skills, obviously to have a kit like that he knew how to use it, so she couldn’t tell why he looked the way he did. She wasn’t wondering for long.</p><p>“I…” The man stammered, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry.” He finished quietly, gaze not moving from her injured leg. Natalia knew what sorry meant but she was almost certain it had never been said <em>to</em> her.</p><p>“It’s okay.” She murmured softly, politely, because she had no idea how she was supposed to respond to that, and she didn’t even understand what he thought he’d done wrong.</p><p>The American’s brows furrowed and his grip tightened around his knee. “It’s not…Natalia, I-“</p><p>She hadn’t meant to flinch. Natalia was her name afterall, it was just that…coming from him, with his accent and his intonations, it felt wrong. She didn’t know why it felt wrong when she’d lived with that name her whole life, but it still did. </p><p>The man watched her carefully, “I’m sorry.” He said again, and the girl was filled with the notion that <em>she</em> wanted to say sorry to <em>him</em>. For making him look sad, for making him feel like he had to keep apologising when all he’d done was shoot at a threat and say her birth given name. “Is there…is there something else you want me to call you?” </p><p>“What?” Natalia frowned. He’d seen her reaction to the name and instead of continuing with it, he was offering her a way out from it. It was hardly like he was bringing her out of the hell her life had been, she had done that herself, but offering her a new name…it felt…it seemed like…</p><p>“Yes.” She said quickly, surprised at the own tenacity of her voice. “But I…I don’t know any other name.”</p><p>The American smiled, picking up a pair of clear gloves from the box and pulling them onto his hands. “Oh, there’s lots of names. Anything you want. Molly, Alexandra, that’s a Russian name, right? Er…Maria.” He paused. “No, wait, we already have one of those.” His gaze moved up from the box to her face. “What name do you like?”</p><p>Natalia stammered, “I don’t…know.” That was a big question, there were so many names, she could choose a more American name or go with something Russian, like he’d suggested. She could be called anything she wanted but she found she couldn’t find anything she liked enough to call it her own. </p><p>“That’s okay. We could just go with Nat for now, if that’s any better. Do you guys use nicknames?” The man asked.</p><p>Immediately she said yes. Yes, Nat was nice. It was close to her name but not her name, it was short and to the point and sounded nice coming from his mouth. She smiled, for the first time since she’d met him. “I like that.”</p><p>“Nat it is.” The archer grinned, “and I’m Clint. My spy name is a little over the top, huh?” He gave a throaty chuckle that Nat found she loved the sound of. </p><p>“I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything but…”</p><p>The American…Clint, gave another laugh at that. But Nat very quickly regretted her words. They had been rude and crass and she wasn’t supposed to make fun of anyone, especially not a man and he would-</p><p>“Nat, hey, you okay?” Clint looked at her with a worried expression, his brows crinkled. He didn’t seem upset by her rudeness, had even laughed at it, but a lot of people could laugh, it didn’t mean what she’d done was right.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” Her voice was a whisper. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”</p><p>“No ones offended, darlin’.” Clint promised. “I thought it was great, you’re a little spitfire.” He hummed. “It’s rare someone other than my boss puts me on my ass.” He smiled again, and some of the tension melted away. She would still choose her words more carefully, but at least he wasn’t mad.</p><p>“Now, something not so great.” Clint pursed his lips and picked up one of the vials. “I need to help your leg, and the best way to do that is to give you some meds first, okay? To help with the pain so I can patch you up.”</p><p>“There’s…there’s a medicine for that?” Nat asked weakly, watching as Clint’s face fell a little. He still looked a bit sick. Had she said something wrong?</p><p>“Yeah,” he said quietly, sadly, “there’s a medicine for that.” His heart ached. He tried to smile, as younger him murmured in the background of his head. Little Clint wanted to offer comfort- he loved giving out hugs to absolutely anyone who looked in any way less than okay. Clint didn’t have a typical ‘caregiver’. He had Phil and Nick, who were uncles and Maria and Melinda who were close to him, but didn’t have a specific title. In that moment, despite big Clint’s best efforts, little Clint really wanted to see if Nat would like to be his sibling. </p><p>But first things first, he wasn’t going to do that to her, he was aware his strong feelings were emotion based and not logic based. They weren’t even friends yet, Clint couldn’t rush anything, and besides, they had more important things than potential (very far away in the future) relations. Little Clint grew quiet as the archer pulled his focus back onto the injured girl.</p><p>“Oh.” She whispered back, swallowing thickly as the archer showed her the vial in his hand. </p><p>“This is one we always take with us, we put it in the needle and inject around the wound and in no time, the pain will be gone. So you don’t feel anything as I patch you up. Does that sound okay?” He twisted the vial so she could see the label, eyes clouded with yet more things Nat didn’t understand.</p><p>She sure was learning a lot that day. A medicine existed to help with pain. She could think of many times off the top of her head she would have killed for that. And also, apparently, not all needles brought bad stuff. “That sounds…yes, that sounds good.” Sure, there was every chance he was lying about the medicine being for that, he could use it to kill her, but at that stage, her leg was hurting so bad and she was so tired she didn’t think she would be too upset if it did turn out lethal.</p><p>“Do you want a countdown? It’s going to hurt at first, okay, maybe a lot, but I promise it will go away soon. It will help.” And there was that voice, the one that Nat wanted to trust so badly her insides ached. </p><p>“I don’t need a countdown.” Nat said softly. Another thing she’d never even had offered to her. How strange. Was that a normal thing where he came from? Were they always offered pain medicine and countdowns? Or was it a special occasion kind of thing? She hoped he wasn’t wasting his only bit of medicine on her. She could handle pain. What if he needed it? </p><p>“Okay, darlin’, so…oh what’s that over there?” Clint pointed to something across the other side of the room and Nat instinctively looked up to see what it was. The second her head lifted, a sharp, stabbing pain coursed up her leg, sending her body into another fit of shudders. She flinched and looked down to find that the archer was already putting the needle away. </p><p>“Sorry.” Clint said sheepishly, “that’s a little trick we use with the younger kids. But it’s all done now. We just wait for it to work and then I can properly help.”</p><p>“That was…it?” She asked, eyes focused on her leg. That was it. In a minute she would either have no pain or would be dying. She probably should have been scared, terrified even, but she just…wasn’t. Either way, she would be getting release.</p><p>Clint watched carefully, unable to erase the sad look from his face. Most littles who needed needles and medical attention usually had a big they were close to with them. On the very off chance they didn’t, they’d have a stuffie, a paci, a blanket, anything comforting. They would wriggle and maybe cry and not be able to articulate very well. In fact, most littles he met had a change in speech when they dropped, they wouldn’t talk as much, would use younger language, sound more childish, giggle and babble instead of talking if they were young enough.</p><p>The archer knew the girl was dropped. But if he had just been meeting her in that moment, and hadn’t been there for the fall, he was quite sure he wouldn’t have known. Her accent was a little heavier, words a tiny bit softer, but what she spoke seemed…adult, really. There wasn’t any stumbling over big and confusing words, no slang terms or mashed together sentences, no using her hands to prove what she meant when the words got stuck. If, and it was a big if, he had realized she was little if he’d only just met her, he would have called her an older big. Like Melinda age big, a few years older than himself. But, despite that, he had a niggling impression that she was actually way younger. Maybe even younger than Maria.</p><p>“Let me know when it stops hurting, okay? We won’t start until it’s all gone.” Clint smiled. He was telling the truth, he would wait until it stopped hurting, but he was getting increasingly worried about the amount of blood. The arrow was likely stopping a lot of it, and he was semi sure it hadn’t hit anything major, but the girl was very pale.</p><p>“Nat?” He asked when there was no answer, resting a hand on her knee. “How are you feeling?” He asked quietly. “Are you dizzy? Feel sick?”</p><p>Nat swallowed and rubbed a hand over her eyes. Now he mentioned it, she was reminded of the not good feeling she’d had for a little while. It felt a little hard to breathe and his figure was a little cloudy. “I…” She winced, pulling in a shaky breath. “I don’t feel good.”</p><p>
  <em>Shit</em>
</p><p>“Okay, love,” Clint fought to keep his voice even, “can you try and tell me what’s going on?”</p><p>“I feel funny.” Nat whispered thickly, still rubbing at her eyes. She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself and squeezing tightly. “Am I dying?” Now she was faced with the fact she could die, she wasn’t as calm about it as she first thought. </p><p>“No.” Clint said quickly, firmly. “Absolutely not.”</p><p>The archer seemed sure of that, but Nat absolutely did not. She really really really didn’t feel good. Her chest felt tight and her vision was still cloudy and getting worse. She was definitely in shock, she knew that now, even if she didn’t understand why. She’d had way worse injuries, had lost far more blood and had stayed conscious the whole time but she was very aware her grasp on that was slipping.</p><p>“Has your leg stopped hurting? I’d really like to start as soon as possible.” Clint murmured, gaze focused entirely on her in a way that would have been unnerving if he wasn’t becoming shrouded in darkness. </p><p>“Clint-“ She whispered, shaking and shaking. Her tongue felt thick and heavy and forcing words out seemed exponentially difficult. She was definitely about to pass out. </p><p>She reached out blindly as the darkness encroached, pretty sure she was gasping, nails digging into his arms. She was immediately cradled in something warm, and someone murmured against her hair as she let the darkness wash over her. </p><p>It had happened before, except this time was different. For the first time ever, Nat had someone to catch her.</p><p>…</p><p>To say that Clint was worried when the girl went lax in his arms would have been an understatement. She’d fallen against his chest and he carefully moved her into the crook of one arm so he could use his other hand.</p><p>“Nat, sweetheart? Hey-“ He cupped a pale cheek, heart pounding in his chest as he ran a thumb over her eyelid. “Wake up, love. Please.” His hand slid down to her jaw, fingers pressing against her neck. He knew she was breathing, could feel it against his neck, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t in danger. Her pulse wasn’t great, a little fast, fluttering a bit, but still relatively strong. She hadn’t lost a whole lot of blood, but he couldn’t imagine the trauma her body had gone through in her life. He’d seen her limp when she walked, so he knew she’d hurt her leg even before the arrow had gone through it, and they were both covered in cuts and bruises. He’d also only seen her sleep for about half an hour at a time the entire time he’d been watching and didn't recall much actual food.</p><p>Why had he shot her? Surely he could have taken any other action. The shot from her gun had barely been a proper shot, and the wound left in his shoulder was more big cut than hole. She’d either been careful or it had been an accident. And he’d purposefully driven an arrow through her leg for that. He had messed up big time.</p><p>“Nat?” Clint cursed, feeling sick all over again at the weight of the unconscious girl in his lap. She was desperately pale and still shaking even though she was out. His words and touches didn’t even offer any hint that she was about to wake up. She stayed still and quiet, eyes not even fluttering. </p><p>
  <em>fuck fuck fuck this was so bad</em>
</p><p>Why did he feel that way? Feel so scared? He barely knew the girl, he knew facts sure, but not the real her. Not who she was inside, what she liked to do, her favourite colour, favourite food, what made her laugh. Clint hadn’t ever considered himself part big, or a switch, or anything like that. He babysat, sure, when necessary or when Maria dropped, but he was pretty sure he’d never felt the way he did towards the girl. He wanted to protect her, look after her, help her. He <em>needed</em> to. It was a kinda scary feeling, having such strong emotions for someone he barely knew. Feeling close to her, feeling like they had a connection. Clint wondered if that was how all big’s felt. </p><p>Looking down at Nat, at her pale, pinched features, and the arrowhead jutting out her calf, Clint promised to anyone who was listening, that he would make it right. He would make her better and he would take her home. Anything that happened after that was Nat’s decision. But first, he had to help her.</p><p>God, Clint hoped the anaesthetic had worked. She was light in his arms, probably<em> too</em> light, as he adjusted them. He lay her as gently as he could on the floor, pulling the fallen sheet back over her, unable to stop himself pushing a fallen strand of red hair from her face. He tucked it behind her ear, forced himself to take a deep breath before standing to get ready to work.</p><p>First, he dragged the table she’d been handcuffed to closer, lifting her legs up and placing them on it. He needed to keep the wound above her heart and it also made it easier for him to reach. After pulling a chair over, he sat, spreading out the equipment beside her legs. He watched the girl’s chest rise and fall for a few seconds before changing his gloves and getting stuck in.</p><p>…</p><p>Using his pocketknife to saw off the arrowhead was a relatively easy part. Trying to wriggle the wooden rod out of the girl’s leg, trying to cause no more damage, and also trying to be gentle enough that on the off chance the meds hadn’t worked yet, Nat wouldn’t wake up to the pain, was difficult. </p><p>Of course, it wasn’t a good thing that the girl had passed out, it meant there was something going on below the surface, that she was hurt more than she knew. But it also meant she wasn’t panicking or hurting and her leg was still enough that Clint managed to get the rod out without it splintering, like he had been anticipating. </p><p>The blood immediately began to bubble up and spill down her leg, so it was clear the wood had been blocking a lot of the flow. Clint immediately grabbed gauze and pressed it down to her leg, using both hands so he could clamp down on both the entry and exit wounds at the same time. “Fuck, kid, I’m so sorry.” He whispered.</p><p>He stayed in that position for nearly ten minutes, just pressing down, switching out the gauze for new ones when it became too saturated, eyes constantly watching the girl breathe, just in case. Because what if one more injury on top of everything else, on top of no sleep, little food, already hurt, caused her body to just…shut down? She’d already passed out, what if something worse was coming? </p><p>Finally the bleeding began to slow. That had been his main worry, it wasn’t like he had blood on him and there was no way to tell if his blood type matched hers, and they clearly couldn’t go to a hospital if she needed a transfusion. Luckily, hopefully, he’d done enough that it didn’t reach that stage. She’d need sugar and food and blankets and rest, but maybe that would be enough. And if it wasn’t, Coulson had better have given Maria the green light to come get them. He would never forgive his boss if the girl who’s life was in his hands died because he hadn’t listened to him. </p><p>Clint wasn’t an expert in internal affairs of the body by any means, but even he knew he couldn’t just stitch the holes up without knowing if he’d hit something with the arrow, without knowing if he’d touched a vein or artery or a bone or a muscle. If anything had been hit, she could bleed out, she could lose feeling in her leg, could lose movement in it, lose use in it. </p><p>No, he couldn’t take that chance. </p><p>Obviously he didn’t just happen to have a scanner laying about, but he did have all his fingers, and that would have to do. If…when Maria came, they could use the scanner in the quinjet, but they were in Russia and her in America and they didn’t have that kinda time to wait. </p><p>So, feeling sick and anxious, Clint pulled the gauze away, put on a fresh pair of gloves, and stuck his pointer finger into the entry wound. It wasn’t like he knew what the literal inside of a leg felt like, but he was fairly certain he’d be able to tell if something was amiss. </p><p>He didn’t feel any tears or ruptures or severe bleeds as he prodded around in there. He wouldn’t be able to feel broken bone even if there was any so he’d just have to keep her leg still until the jet got there and they could scan it.</p><p>Fairly confident that she wasn’t bleeding internally, Clint pulled out his finger, absently noting that he was glad he’d already thrown up because no he wasn’t squeamish, but he also rarely had to shove his fingers into wounds.</p><p>Stitching the wounds was by far the easiest part of the job, and the one he felt most confident about, and he got it done in record time. Whilst he had the equipment out, he took care of her minor wounds too. He stitched a cut in her hair line, cleaned knife cuts and covered them with gauze and tape, bandaged her leg up as best he could without twisting the appendage. He very quickly and far more sloppily stitched the gun shot to his shoulder, so anxious and worried about the girl that the pain barely registered. With most wounds tended to, Clint pulled off the gloves.</p><p>Not only was the couch closer than the bedroom, the seat looked far more comfortable than the mattress that was Nat’s bed. Feeling a little guilty, Clint hacked at the table legs until he had two, bracing the girl’s legs with the wood and wrapping his belt around them to hopefully hold them in place. Hopefully moving her to the couch wouldn’t agitate her leg now it was strapped up.</p><p>Clint noted again how light she was as he carefully and gently picked her up and laid her down on the couch. He was also reminded of one of his first strange thoughts, of wanting to give her a proper meal, of hoping the candy bar wasn’t her only food for the day.</p><p>Once she was laying down, Clint checked her vitals. He hoped her pulse would get better with rest and food and she didn’t seem to be running a fever, so hopefully he’d cleaned everything up quickly enough to avoid infection. Her breathing was a little laboured, but he chalked it up to blood loss and hoped desperately that was the case.</p><p>Looking down at Nat, Clint felt himself on the verge of tears, his body filled with such strange emotion that he didn’t even understand what he was feeling. Protective, angry, scared, guilty, and a whole host of things he couldn’t identify. He wanted to look after her. Help her. It was more an intrinsic need than want, though. </p><p>Letting out a shaky breath, the archer pushed back red hair from the girl’s face, fingers trailing down her cheek of their own accord. He was well and truly ensnared with her.</p><p>And then something happened that Clint hadn’t dared hope. Her eyelashes fluttered and she whimpered so softly he barely heard it. Her green eyes rolled open, glazed and unfocused as they looked up at him.</p><p>“Hi, darlin’.” Clint said softly, gently pressing a hand to her shoulder as she tired to get up. “Try not to move, love, you’re going to be dizzy for while.”</p><p>Nat frowned and dragged her gaze down to her leg before pulling it back up. Her expression was unreadable and her voice achingly soft and confused. “You helped me?”</p><p>“Of course I did, I said I would.” Cling said firmly, clasping his hands together. “I meant it when I said it, Nat. You’re going to be okay and I’m going to help.”</p><p>Now it was the girl who seemed on the verge of tears, but Clint got the feeling it was because it was so hard for her to understand why he was helping her, why he’d patched her up, why he hadn’t let her bleed out and die.</p><p>She seemed unable to talk, looked like she was working through some stuff so Clint stood from the floor and moved to rummage around in his bag. He looked over his shoulder, holding up a can. “Do you like soup? You should really eat something.”</p><p>Nat swallowed and stared at him, eyes shining in the dim light of the room. “That would be nice.” She said quietly, voice trembling. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Sure thing, Nat.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Soup, candy, and unexpected feelings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys! I’m gonna be putting this on all fics I update in the near future. First off, I wanna say sorry to everyone I haven’t answered in the comments. I see and appreciate every single comment more than I can ever say. Anxiety is real however, so replying can be kinda nerve wracking for me. I’m trying to do better. For the next couple of weeks I’m going to be replying to at least all of my WIP’s comments and hopefully every fic comment I’ve ever gotten. I swear I love all comments, I just get overwhelmed very easily. Thank you all for sticking with me and I hope I haven’t upset anybody or came across as rude not replying. </p><p>Thank you all for everything, I love all of you &lt;3</p><p>Now, I hope you like this chapter. This is becoming my new fave to write and I hope the slow pace is suiting y'all. </p><p>TW'S: eating disorder-y mentions, food issues, more gross Red Room and abuse stuff</p><p>I tried to make it cute but in a super heartbreaking way, whoops sorry</p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey, do you have a stove or microwave?” Clint asked, cans of soup tucked into the crook of his arm. He could have easily searched the apartment when he got back there before Nat after her mission, but he’d just gone to one room and hidden there. Sure, he was an intruder but he wasn’t a rude one, he wasn’t about to go rifling through her things. He had good manners…okay, a few manners, but still.</p><p>Plus, booby traps. And he wasn’t on about wherever she kept her undergarments. </p><p>“I uh…” Nat swallowed, clenching and unclenching her fingers. She hadn’t had the apartment for that long, and when picking it, she’d gone for something paid in cash, close to the stations, and with as few neighbours as possible. A fully stocked kitchen had not been a high priority. “No.” She said quietly. “Sorry.”</p><p>And there was that feeling bubbling up in Clint again. The same one he’d had when watching her eat the candy, and the one he’d had when realizing the girl was too light, too thin for someone of her height. Soup was hardly a decadent meal but at least it was proper food, and something warm to fight the chill in the air because apparently central heating hadn’t been a priority either. When they got home, he was going to cook for Nat. Actually, scratch that, he would poison her. He would get Maria to cook and they could get full, proper meals at the canteen in the mean time. </p><p>“That’s okay, I have a camp stove. Hiding and sneaking around would be difficult if I needed appliances to cook things.” The archer offered a smile to the girl, who looked vaguely uncomfortable and sad.</p><p>Smile dropping, Clint placed the cans on the floor and came to kneel at the side of the couch. “Hey, love, I promise it’s okay. I’m a pro at camp cooking…well, camp heating up, by now. You don’t need to worry. Now, do you prefer tomato soup or chicken noodle?”</p><p>Clint thought she looked a little excited about one of the options, her eyes had lit up when he’d said tomato, but instead of telling him she clearly wanted that one, she gave a weak shrug. “Whatever you don’t want.” She said quietly. She still couldn’t believe he was sharing food with her in the first place. Sharing food meant you’d get your meals revoked the next day. It meant you’d go into isolation that night, so none of the girl’s could share their food and you would go to sleep even hungrier than usual.</p><p>Nat hadn’t paid for that food, she hadn’t earned it, she hadn’t put on a show worthy enough of warm food. But Clint was still offering it anyway. If she was going to eat the food, the least she could do was let him pick which one he wanted. It didn’t matter if she didn’t really like or eat meat, so would be far more comfortable with the other option.</p><p>Clint hummed softly. “I’ll let you in on a secret, Nat, alright? My boss <em>always</em> sneaks in a can of tomato soup, he likes to joke that I need more vegetables, but I really don’t like it.” He actually didn’t mind it, it wasn’t the worst food ever and he ate it because food was food, but he knew the girl wanted it and a little white lie to ensure she finally got something she wanted felt like the right move to make. </p><p>Nat swallowed, suddenly aware of how hungry she was. Her stomach ached in the way it often did, empty and clenching and making her feel sick. She knew if she didn’t eat, she would end up being physically sick, even if there was nothing in her to expel, it happened often enough. She’d survived off of whatever The Red Room gave her and had never learned nutrition or food facts or how much she needed or how often she needed it. Since she’d left her former home, she had been getting sick more often. She’d done some questionable things to get enough money for the apartment, and food just wasn’t high on her list of priorities again, there were far more important things. She indulged on the first of every month, would put aside tiny bits of change and when that day came, she’d go to the market, get a candy bar, and enjoy it. But normal food? No, she had no idea how to do that. What did normal even mean?</p><p>So yes, Nat was hungry. She wasn’t sure she’d ever had tomato soup or even tomatoes but she’d never been a fan of chicken and something in the back of her mind remembered her mother making soup over an open fire. Had that been tomato?</p><p>
  <em>But I really want it, please?</em>
</p><p>She really did want the tomato soup. She could imagine the warmth as she took her first bite, how it would trail down to her stomach and the cramping would subside, just a bit. How she’d maybe perk up a bit, wouldn’t feel as dizzy or weak. How long had it been since Nat had gone to bed with a full stomach? Had she ever?</p><p>Had she ever been truly full and content? Or had she always still been hungry after her evening ‘meal’?</p><p>“You’d be doing me a favour, darlin’, I really can’t stomach it.” Clint continued with the little lie, not sure what was going on in the girl’s head, she was clearly thinking a lot. He’d been half expecting her to not accept any food, so whilst he had her interested in the soup enough to be willing to eat it, he was gonna push on.</p><p>“I mean…if um…if you really don’t like it, I could have that one.” Nat whispered, trying her best to keep any excitement out of her tone, even as a voice in her head clapped and jumped up and down, ecstatic to be having the one she wanted.</p><p>She always, always tried to push down the little side of her, but that part of her was just too excited to quieten down. </p><p>
  <em>I want it! It’s gonna be warm and yummy and we won’t feel sick anymore and it’s the one we wanted, he doesn’t even like it! It’s gonna be so good, say yes, please say yes! I really really really want it.</em>
</p><p>“Okay.” Nat nodded, far more conserved and quiet than the little shouting in her head. “If you don’t like it anyway.” </p><p>Clint grinned. “Alright then, it’s settled. You get comfy and try not to move your leg whilst I get started.” He shuffled back to set up the little stove, bring out what looked like a flat piece of metal but after a little poking at it, the base of it popped out and turned into a little pot with a handle. He only had one, so he’d sort the girl’s soup out first and then move onto his own. As he poured the soup into the pan, he tried to figure out what he would say.</p><p>Nat had heard him on the phone, but he wasn’t entirely sure how much she’d been present for, so at some point pretty soon, Clint would have to explain that they would be leaving Russia. It could go wrong or very very wrong, it didn’t seem like there was a chance it would go well. The girl didn’t trust him, let alone a big ass jet landing somewhere close and yet more unfamiliar faces. He hoped Maria would come alone. She had a way with the kids, the girls in particular, and even though she was little too, she had some of the big instincts Clint was quite sure he’d never had. </p><p>How the hell was he going to convince the girl to come with him? Should he even try? The mission had been to kill her, so it was unlikely he would be able to just…let her go, not if Phil was on the jet too. If she really did not want to go, Clint knew he would let her walk, despite the pain he felt even considering it. It was clear that Nat was not doing so hot. She wasn’t taking care of herself at all really. She barely ate or slept or took care of her wounds, she was so focused on always finding another mission, working herself dry, physically, mentally, emotionally.</p><p>Clint was struck with the thought that if she didn’t come with him, back home, she wouldn’t be alive in a year. It was a sudden shock to even think that, but he absolutely <em>knew</em> it was true. She was running herself into the ground. How long before she got wounded and couldn’t take care of it herself? How long until her body shut down with hunger, pain, exhaustion, blood loss? </p><p>If he let Nat go, he would never see her again. </p><p>He was surprised to find himself overcome with fear, with panic, with pain. He did not want to let her walk away. Something in him yearned to keep the girl close. Clint again thought of his little-self, how he’d crept into his brain and whispered about being a sibling. It could have been that connection that had him feeling sick at the mere idea of Nat not coming with him.</p><p>But it felt deeper than that, more powerful than that. Clint’s stomach fluttered, his heart raced faster, and despite being so terrified, excitement bubbled up within him. He wanted to look after the girl, help her, make food for her, tuck her into a mountain of blankets, buy her bucket loads of toys and clothes and anything she could ever want.</p><p>The need was blindsiding. The archer was quite sure he had never in all of his life felt that way towards anyone. <em>Ever.</em></p><p>Was this feeling what it meant to be a caregiver? He had honestly been sure he didn’t have it in him to look after anyone in that way. With Maria he was a big brother figure and he’d been certain if he were to meet a little he clicked with in the future, that would be the only relationship he would hold with them too.</p><p>He was probably jumping too ahead of himself, there was no way he’d even consider caregiver-ness, or hell, even parenting. </p><p>Clint was just emotional. It had been a long evening and his heart hurt for all the girl had gone through. It was probably just the heat of the moment, the anger towards The Red Room, the realization that he’d been sent to kill her, the words she’d spoken to him after dropping permanently ingrained onto his brain.</p><p>His want to look after was probably because he felt guilty about hurting her in the first place. She was sick, and needed looking after, Clint would do that for anyone. </p><p>If, and it was a big if, he and Nat had made a connection, it was likely to end up being the same kind he held with Maria. </p><p>Nah, Clint Barton was <em>not</em> caregiver material. </p><p>And even if he was, it was probably wrong of him to even listen to the feelings inside of him. Nat didn’t need a caregiver or a brother, she just needed a friend. And friendship? Yeah, he could do that.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <em>Hopefully.</em>
</p><p>Clint absently stirred the soup, making sure it was warm but not hot enough to scald Nat if she ate too fast. He carefully poured it into a little metal bowl, standing with a little wince because he’d definitely pulled some kinda muscle, kneeling back at the side of the couch.</p><p>“Okay,” the archer hummed, placing the bowl down for a second, “we need to shuffle you up a little bit. We’ll go nice and slow to try and stop you getting dizzy, okay? Is it alright if I help lift you up?”</p><p>Nat looked up at him with big eyes, expression clouded with confusion. “W…what?” She whispered.</p><p>“Is it alright if…” Clint trailed off, realising that the girl had heard him the first time, she just didn’t understand. He was quite sure his heart would never stop hurting. Of course no one had asked her consent before touching her, of fucking course those monsters hadn’t ever given her a choice. God dammit, he wanted to rip them in half and then in half again <em>and</em> then he would happily find a lovely hole for the rest of the bodies.</p><p>“Nat…I swear, I’m not going to do anything without your permission. I understand you might not believe me because I picked you up when you went to sleep, but I only did that so I could stop the blood and make you feel better. But if you’re awake and you’re okay, I’m always gonna ask. This is your choice.”</p><p>The girl swallowed, teeth grinding together. Clint recognised the movement, Maria often did that if she wasn’t given a pacifier and unfortunately, the archer didn’t have one on him, Even if he had, he had a niggling feeling it wouldn’t have been a good idea anyway. </p><p>“I can do it myself.” Nat said quietly, placing her palms down either side of her. </p><p>That was fair. Clint had given a choice and the girl had decided against his help, so unless she hurt herself doing it, he was going to let her do what she needed to do. Even though it was hard watching her struggle with clearly weak arms and a trembling grip.</p><p>She did go slow, although Clint knew that wasn’t on purpose, and eventually Nat did manage to get herself more upright. She exhaled shakily, sinking back against the cushions Clint had placed behind her head. She’d gotten paler, and was definitely full on shaking again. He was worried to hand her the bowl, the last thing she needed was to get covered in soup.</p><p>Picking the bowl up, he paused for a moment. “Okay, do you think you can hold this? Or would it be easier if I held it? I won’t touch you, I promise, just don’t want you to hurt yourself.” The soup was warm, not hot, and it probably wouldn’t hurt her if dropped, but he knew she would be embarrassed, maybe upset, and it was the only tin of that flavour he had and she’d clearly been looking forward to it. </p><p>“I…I think that would be okay.” Nat nodded, eyes a little lighter as Clint brought the bowl closer. She stared down into the soup, sneakily inhaling. It smelled really good. Really really <em>really</em> good. How long had it been since she’d had something warm? Letting out another shaky breath, expression full of wonder, the girl carefully picked up the spoon and held it between trembling fingers. </p><p>She swallowed, mouth watering, pulse a little faster as she scooped up a spoonful. Eyes wide, she carefully brought it to her lips, not wanting to spill a single drop. She opened her mouth and took the first bite. </p><p>Nat immediately closed her eyes, letting the liquid sit on her tongue, a little shiver running through her. It was everything she’d hoped for. She couldn’t recall that kind of taste from her past at all. It was rich and creamy and a little sweet and she could definitely get used to tomatoes. And then she swallowed and it coated the back of her throat and just like she’d predicted, it left a trail of warmth in its wake.</p><p>Clint watched the whole thing with a soft expression, eyes both sad and happy. Sad because she’d clearly never had many different foods, she seemed to relish in the warmth which said to him that she’d rarely, if ever, had warm food. Sad because the girl was so happy to be having one of, in Clint’s opinion, the most boring foods in the world. Happy because she was smiling. Happy because she let out a delighted little laugh, eyes popping open and full of elation and awe. Happy because she immediately dropped the spoon back into the soup, eating it with vigour this time.</p><p>“If you like that, just wait until you try it with a grilled cheese.” Clint hummed, smiling despite it all because the girl in front of him seemed so different from the woman he’d been watching all week. Smiling because for the first time since the candy bar, she was smiling too. </p><p>Nat clearly didn’t seem interested in talking, as engrossed with her meal as she was, but she did raise an eyebrow in question, eyes on him, even as her hand still lifted up the soup.</p><p>“Ah, right. Okay, so a grilled cheese is an American favourite. And I’ve heard it’s even better with the soup. It’s bread, with cheese in it, like a lot of cheese, and you toast it up on the stove in a pan so it gets all crispy and the cheese melts. My boss is a pretty good cook and he makes the best I’ve ever had. He says the secret ingredient is love, but really its just fresh basil.” Clint grinned. “I tend to burn ‘em so I’ll let him make you one.”</p><p>Nat did notice the end of that sentence, fear spiking. Why would his boss make her one? When was she going to see him? He wasn’t already there, was he? But despite feeling scared, she couldn’t stop with the soup. She was starving and her cramping and empty stomach wanted every last bit of the soup, so much so that literally could not stop eating.</p><p>“That sounds good.” Nat mumbled before having another mouthful, sad to see that she was scraping the bottom of the bowl. She should not have been close to tears because she’d nearly finished her meal, that was ridiculous and dumb and childish, but she was anyway.</p><p>
  <em>Stupid dumb crybaby. Pathetic.</em>
</p><p>Noting how crestfallen the girl was, seeing the tears in her eyes, Clint was very glad he’d taken his own little trip to the market. </p><p>After Nat had finished her soup, making sure to scrape up every last bit, Clint slowly pulled the bowl away and left it on the floor before sliding his bag over to himself. The girl sniffled a little as he did so and his stomach clenched uncomfortably. Littles, even if they were the strongest and best at hiding their emotions when big, did cry quite a lot. Because, obviously, kids cried quite a lot, especially younger ones. But Nat hadn’t cried the entire time, not even with the arrow in her leg. </p><p>She was obviously holding the flood back, so it must have meant she was really upset to be that close to tears even after trying her hardest to stop it in its tracks. Nat dragged the back of her hand across her eyes, even though no tears had been shed, in a way that really reminded Clint of the younger littles. </p><p>The girl sniffed again, ducking her head a little in what seemed like an attempt to hide her expression. She clenched her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms, still looking desperately sad.</p><p>“Hey, Nat, it’s okay.” Clint said softly. “I promise, I’ll get you all the soup and yummy food you can ever want. And for now, I have a little present for you.” He gave his voice a mysterious tone, leaning in a little so his whisper could be heard. </p><p>Nat blinked, slowly lifting up her head. A puzzled expression crossed her face and then something else, something Clint absolutely did not like at all. In fact, it sent him panicking, set his hairs on edge, sent his stomach dropping.</p><p>The girl looked scared. Not just scared, but…betrayed?</p><p>Oh, fuck. He’d definitely said something wrong. He’d put his foot in it without meaning to, in fact even after trying to do the exact opposite. </p><p>Nat was retreating, exhaling shakily, her nails drew blood this time. She was trying to get up, trying to move her leg off the couch, trying to stand. </p><p>“Nat, Nat please, hey-“ Clint backed up, hands held up in surrender. “I promise, I promise whatever I’ve done, I didn’t mean to. Please tell me what I did wrong, Nat, I’ll fix it. I’m so sorry.” </p><p>The girl paused, tilting her head to the side. She hadn’t successfully taken her injured leg off the couch, though she was close. Clint really did not want her to injure it further. </p><p>
  <em>Fuck, Barton, you are the most tactless agent ever</em>
</p><p>“If I wanted to hurt you, Nat, I would have done when you were out. But I patched you up and I…I helped, and that’s all I wanna do, darlin’, I just want to help you. Please, help me out too. What did I do wrong?” He asked, swallowing. He was not going to like the answer, he already was very sure of that. </p><p>The girl watched him critically, hands curled around the material of the couch. Her eyes flitted quickly around the room to where, if Clint had to bet, there were weapons laying around and tucked into hidey holes. He was sure, that even injured, she would be able to get to them before he could stop her. And this time, he was more than reluctant, afraid even, to fight back. And he sure as hell wasn’t scared for himself.</p><p>Clint was sure she was going to make run for something. He tensed his body, hands on his knees, coiled and ready.</p><p>Except then the girl stilled, forcing herself to pull in a breath and with a voice that was watery and sad said, “presents have to be earned.” She swallowed and refused to meet his gaze. “To get a present, things are expected.” She whispered. “A…a toy might be given. If I did a good enough job. If…if the client is happy, if Madame is happy, if I killed quick enough. I have to do a…a really good job to earn it. Maybe if I was really good or…went up a level, I could have something new, or I can…I can get more bread. I d…did nothing for this present so…so what do you want me to do for it? I thought you weren’t going to…I was so stupid, I should’ve known you were just like them.”</p><p>Clint felt sick again. He was glad he hadn’t eaten. Jesus fucking Christ, those sick fucks. He would do <strong>ANYTHING</strong> to be in front of them right now. His chest ached once more. Fucking hell, not only had the Red Room used the littles for sex, they’d bribed them, manipulated them with of the thing most, if not all, littles loved; toys. From experience, Clint knew how important those kind of objects were to kids. Hell, he himself had a penchant for toy cars and he was older. </p><p>Littles were just kids. Just kids who wanted to play and have fun things and be looked after. Most biological kids loved toys, and littles were no exception. Clint dreaded to think what else had been used again them, against Nat. She’d already mentioned extra food and that they would get to play with what, one toy? For how long? How long could they have that until it got taken away? And then, if they didn’t do a ‘good enough job’, they’d get nothing?</p><p>What else? What else did those monsters do?</p><p>“Nat, no…sweetheart, no, I promise you don’t have to do anything. You never have to do anything ever again. I just wanted to help, I saw you were still hungry and I…I saw you at the market and I thought I could treat you. Give you something to make you feel a little better. I’m so sorry for getting it wrong, I should’ve thought more but I…I just saw it and wanted to get it for you, that’s all. You deserve something nice, you deserve every nice thing ever. I swear to you, I don’t want anything. You don’t have to do anything for it, not ever. I…here, I’ll prove it.” Clint stood quickly. </p><p>“Do you know how to use a bow? Nevermind, here-” the archer made a grab for his bow and his quiver, placing them on the couch. He then pulled his gun from his thigh holster and held it out to the girl. “Take this, please, love. If I…if I try anything, anything at all that you don’t like, don’t want, you use that. I won’t fight back, I won’t do anything.”</p><p>Nat frowned, fingers closing around the gun with care, like he was about to pull it back, like it was just another trick. Clint let go and took a step back, hands held up again, “I promise.” He whispered. “You don’t have to trust me, I know that’s so hard but I promise I won’t hurt you.”</p><p>Apart from shooting an arrow through her leg, that was.</p><p>The girl clasped the gun in her hands, looking more than a little confused. Her body was coiled tight and she’d forced herself to remain in an upright position. Her brows pulled together as she slowly looked up at Clint. “You don’t…I don’t have to do anythin’ for it?” </p><p>Clint almost startled a little. The whole time little Nat had sounded very much like adult Nat, not taking on any of the speech patterns the kids normally used. ‘Anythin’’ was hardly a big difference, but it was telling nonetheless. He had a suspicion that Nat was one of those kids that could change their age, so either the word slip up was on purpose, or an accident. Either she’d done that to trick him, or she was just doing what all kids did.</p><p>Either way, it didn’t matter that much. Clint had had far worse tricks pulled on him than a little making herself sound younger.</p><p>“You don’t have to do anything, darlin’.” Clint smiled weakly, gesturing at the bag by the side of the couch. “Would you feel any better if you took it out? It’s just in the front pocket.”</p><p>Still looking highly highly suspicious, but also curious, in a way that some of the agents at Shield did when dropped, Nat slowly reached for the bag. Her eyes stayed on Clint the whole time and the gun stayed firmly in one hand as the other carefully unzipped the front pocket and rifled around in it.</p><p>Nat pulled out the candy bar, eyes widening despite her trying to hide her feelings. It was the same one she bought every month at the market, except it was…bigger. It was the double size, the one she’d only looked wistfully at for her whole time going there, the one she blatantly ignored, despite wanting it so so badly. She’d known she would never have it, she wouldn’t ever get it for herself and even if she did, she’d feel too guilty. She didn’t deserve to buy it for herself. </p><p>The girl faltered as she held it on her lap, trying to breathe and ignore the voice in her head begging her to open it.</p><p>
  <em>Please, please, please? I want it so bad, please, we’ll never get it again, it doesn’t matter if he’s lying, you have the gun and it’s all ours. Please?</em>
</p><p>Pulling in a trembling breath, eyes locked on the purple wrapper of her favourite food ever, Nat slowly began to pull at the corner to open it. It was difficult with one hand and when she saw the square of the chocolate peeking out, she dropped all pretence. The gun got discarded beside her as she used both hands to open it. </p><p>She looked up at Clint, eyes wide and watery. “For me?” She whispered. “D…deserve it?”</p><p>“For you.” Clint nodded, voice just as soft. “You deserve the world, darlin’, but you don’t have to do anything to have a nice food. It…it’s the right one, yeah?”</p><p>“Bigger.” Nat marvelled, mouth already watering at the sight and smell of the candy bar. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity, she would probably never have it ever again, never have anything that big and fancy again.</p><p>As Nat’s sentences began to reduce into single words, Clint was pretty sure she wasn’t faking anything, wasn’t tricking him, she was just being a kid. </p><p>“I w…want it.” Nat sniffled, knuckles white as she clenched the treat. “Really want it.”</p><p>“Go ahead, darl.” Clint encouraged, smiling across at her. “It’s yours.”</p><p>A single tear rolled down the girl’s cheek as she breathed a very soft ‘thank you’ and tore into the wrapping. </p><p>
  <em>All mine.</em>
</p><p>…</p><p>
  <br/>
  <strong>6 hours later</strong>
</p><p>Nat must have drifted off at some point because when she came to, it was dark outside and she was covered in her sheet and Clint’s jacket. She slowly lifted her head at the sound of conversation. With a start, she realized he wasn’t on his device again, there was someone else there.</p><p>Panic filling her, the girl sat bolt upright, reaching for the gun the archer had left for her. When Clint and the new person stepped through the door, she had the barrel trained on the newcomer’s face.</p><p>The new person smiled despite that, waving her fingers at her, nonplussed about the gun. They had soft features and no weapons in sight and the loveliest expression Nat had ever seen.</p><p>“Hey, Nat, I’m Maria. It’s nice to meet you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>MARIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I love her and Natty interacting so much ugh </p><p>Until next time &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Okay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey hey heyyyyyyyyyyy TW's are the same as the other chapters, nothing new...yet ;) I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clint appeared behind the stranger, carefully sliding his way in between the woman and the gun, one hand held up to Nat. “Easy, love, it’s okay. This is Maria, remember I mentioned her name earlier? She’s a friend, a good one, she’s just here to help us out.”</p><p>Nat looked around the archer, watching the newcomer suspiciously, gun still held out. The expression on Maria’s face indicated submissiveness, kindness, but Nat had had far more convincing expressions directed her way and they always ended the same. Especially with the women that came, they always had that nice look on their faces, Nat had learned those were the kind who liked to trick her the most. She hadn’t fallen for the kind crap for a long time, she knew how dangerous that was.</p><p>But despite that, Nat found herself being suckered in. She wanted it to be real so badly, wanted the woman to be nice, to be another…maybe her first proper ever friend, like Clint was…maybe. Clint wouldn’t lie to her, right? Everyone lied but he had seemed so genuine. He hadn’t hurt her when she’d passed out or been asleep. He’d tended to her wounds, tucked her up in his jacket, gave her soup and candy. Jesus, what the fuck was wrong with her? Everything she was thinking went against every survival instinct deeply engrained in her. </p><p>If she really was a good friend to him, would she be the same kind of person he was? It was hard, since she was so still suspicious about the archer, let alone another face. But, again, she tried to remember that so far Clint had only helped her. He’d shot an arrow through her leg in the first place, sure, but she had shot him so that was pretty even.</p><p>Even though all instincts were screaming at her to do the opposite, Nat lowered the gun. She did it slowly, carefully, eyes still hyper focused on her former target. </p><p>The woman, Maria, smiled at her and as soon as the weapon was lowered, she was taking slow, purposeful steps towards her. She had a black bag slung over her shoulder, much like the girl’s own bag, except this one held the same symbol as Clint’s outfit. “Thank you, sweetheart, it must have been scary to put that down.” </p><p>The girl tried not to flinch, keeping her expression even. If the woman was lying, Nat didn’t want her to know she was in anyway frightened or that she was still ready to fight if needs be. </p><p>At once, Nat tried to figure out what the bag held. Maybe it was money, guns, knives, secret information. Maybe it held handcuffs and other objects to restrain a person, maybe it held drugs and needles or brain wipe equipment. It could be very important to know what was inside, it could be the difference between knowing an attack was coming and not. But then…would the woman have even opened it if it was something to hurt her with? Maybe it was a decoy bag? Either way, her interest was piqued.</p><p>It could have been any and all of that, except it wasn’t. It really really wasn’t because it held things Natasha had seen and used before, but not for a long time. The bag held things she loved and hated, because they were comfort but they were also used constantly in sessions and always taken away from her. It was seeming more and more like a decoy bag because why would the woman offer her those things on a platter? Without having to do anything for them? That was highly suspicious. </p><p>Maria had knelt down as she unzipped the bag and pulled it open so the girl could see it’s contents without having to move. The woman looked up at her and offered her the warmest smile Natasha had ever seen. Her eyes were soft and every inch of her screamed safe. Her voice was like honey when she spoke, a little throaty, a little sad, a little happy. </p><p>“I thought you might like to have a look in here. You can take anything you want, or nothing. I just…I know I hate when I’m dropped and don’t have any comfort items, and I thought you might feel the same.” Maria hummed, tilting her head to the side. “You’re pretty small, huh?” </p><p>If anyone else had asked that question, Nat’s skin would have crawled. She<em> knew</em> that question and what it meant. She would have felt sick and scared and angry and uncomfortable in her own body. She would have been waiting for the sleazy nicknames, the rough hands, the glee in someone’s eyes as they told her to drop to her lowest age.</p><p>Instead, Nat’s stomach flipped, and not in the usual way. She exhaled shakily, teeth biting into her lip, hands clasped together. It was almost like little birds were flying around in her stomach, a strange and confusing feeling. Usually those birds meant she was scared, but this time she didn’t think that was the case.</p><p>She nodded.</p><p>Maria’s answer was a warm, enveloping smile. She leaned in a little closer, voice a husky whisper. “I am too.”</p><p>Nat’s eyes widened, pulse beating faster. Maria was little! She was small like she was. Nat hadn’t met a little her age in a long time. Immediately the girl craved more information. She cleared her throat and looked at the woman, feeling off kilter and shaky and…ecstatic. “Small too?” She breathed.</p><p>
  <em>She’s small too! Like the girl with the blonde hair from class! I wonder if she likes playing, what her favourite toy is, what…slow down. Slow down, for fucks sake. She is NOT a friend.</em>
</p><p>The woman carefully sat herself on the floor, crossing her legs. “Not right now, but when I drop I am. I’m normally about 4 or 5, what about you?”</p><p>Nat, too engrossed in this mysterious new woman, missed the gentle and sad smile of Clint, leaning against the wall in the corner of the room, watching the pair with desperately soft eyes. He knew it had been a good call, getting Maria there, he’d known immediately she was the absolute best person to get off that jet.</p><p>“I…I…” Nat swallowed and ducked her head a little, avoiding eye contact. She shrugged and rubbed at her forehead. “Kinda like that.” She murmured, twisting her hands. “Maybe a bit less.” </p><p>“Yeah?” Maria asked, almost sounding excited. “That’s really cool, Nat, thanks for telling me.” She gestured at the bag. “Do you want to have a look? It’s mainly my old stuff but some of it wasn’t hygienic to have old so I bought new ones.”</p><p>Nat had already spotted most of the contents of the bag. She was at once overwhelmed, confused as to why those things were being offered, fear at what she would have to do in return, excitedness because she hadn’t held a stuffed animal in years. </p><p>The girl made no moves to reach for the bag, just watching it with a sceptical expression, trying her hardest to not look excited at all. She would have to work for any of that, right? But then…Clint had given her the chocolate for no reason, just because, surely someone else wouldn’t give her stuff for free too? He’d been a fluke, an anomaly, not the norm.</p><p>Noticing that Nat hadn’t moved from her spot, Maria reached into the bag. She pulled out a soft white bunny, the cleanest stuffed animal the girl had ever seen. It had silky fur, both its eyes, no marks on her at all. There was even a little cardboard tag on the corner, one she recognised from her only new toy ever. It hadn’t been hers for long, but it had been new, she had been the first to play with it. </p><p>Nat swallowed thickly, trying hard to ignore the voice in her head that yelled in excitement and wanted her to grab the stuffed rabbit and hold it close to her chest and not let go. </p><p>
  <em>It’s so soft, look! It’s all fluffy and clean and white, it’s so pretty! Isn’t she so pretty? Please I wanna hold her.</em>
</p><p>Maria slowly held out the bunny, but Nat stubbornly refused to lift her hand, to even stroke a finger across the fur of it. When she still didn’t reach, the woman looked over her shoulder at Clint and the archer left his post by the door to crouch by Maria.</p><p>“Hey, darlin’, it’s okay. I promise. Remember, this is just like the candy. You don’t have to do anything for it, it’s a present, just for you.” He said softly, reaching to stroke the bunny’s fur so she knew it wasn’t just Maria who could touch it. </p><p>Maria swallowed, her own stomach roiling with anger and sadness. Her look told Clint that they would talk later, talk about what exactly he knew about the situation, why he knew Nat thought she had to work for the delight of a simple toy that any little had at least one of. </p><p>Eyes wide and watery, Nat sucked in a few shaky breaths, fingers clenching and unclenching in her lap. She didn’t deserve a toy, definitely not a new one. They were so rare, a commodity, a treat for only the very best of them. And she also wanted it very badly. </p><p>When it became clear that the girl wasn’t going to take the toy of her own accord, Maria made a potentially dangerous decision and carefully sat the stuffie in the girl’s lap, leaning against her clasped and shaking hands. </p><p>Nat squeezed her eyes shut for a second, fingers trembling with the effort of making herself not touch the toy even though it was now right in front of and she could feel the silkiness of the fur. It wasn’t matted or torn or rough from use, it was just achingly soft and perfect. </p><p>“Nat, sweetheart, it’s okay. If you don’t want it, you don’t have to have it. But if you do want it, you can. It’s yours. No tricks or games or work involved, just yours.” Clint smiled reassuringly, picking up one of the long floppy white ears. “Isn’t it the softest thing ever? I bet it’s so nice to cuddle.”</p><p>“She.” Nat whispered, voice shaking. One finger of her fist smoothed out a little, and a jerking digit ever so slowly flicked over the other ear.</p><p>“She, of course, how silly of me.” Clint laughed softly. “You know what, Nat? I bet she would love a cuddle right now. She’s travelled so far to meet you.”</p><p>“Meet me?” Nat whispered quietly. “Just me?”</p><p>“She’s only here to meet you, love.” Maria nodded, a secret smile on her face. “She told me herself, she only wants you and no one else, not ever.”</p><p>The older woman picked up on of the paws, making it wave at the girl. “Hi friend.” She play whispered, making the voice silly and high. “I’ve come from America just to find you, I’d really like to play and have cuddles. You seem like a very good owner.” Maria playfully booped the girl on the back of her hand with the paw.</p><p>Despite trying not to seem excited, Nat couldn’t help the little delighted giggle that left her mouth at the funny voice. She looked sown at the bunny and exhaled. “I guess…if you don’t want no one else.” She mumbled, teeth biting into her lower lip. </p><p>Sensing something was about to change, Maria and Clint let go of the bunny and sat back a little, both of their expressions light and smiley as the girl slowly wrapped her hands around the stuffed animal. With a noise that was almost a whimper, Nat couldn’t contain herself anymore. She brought the bunny up to her face, burying it against fur, arms wrapped around it so she could squeeze it to her chest.</p><p>“Isn’t she so great at hugs, bunny?” Clint asked mysteriously, cracking a smile as Maria replied as the rabbit.</p><p>“She sure is! I’m so happy to be here.” Maria laughed softly, looking over at Clint who gave her a thumbs up and mouthed ‘thank you’. </p><p>Meanwhile, Nat was holding her new friend ever so tightly, breathing shakily against the bunny’s head, her grip not once faltering as she rocked it from side to side in her arms. </p><p>Clint sighed softly, cheek resting against his palm. Now came the very hard part- trying to convince the girl to get on the jet and come home with them. </p><p>Good luck to them all.</p><p>…</p><p>Maria and Clint didn’t bother the girl too much as she hugged her new stuffed animal like her life depended on it, refusing to let it go for even a second. Her shoulders were shaking a little but Clint was almost certain that she still wasn’t crying, was still holding it in, and he didn’t see that ending up well at all.</p><p>As Nat sat there, the other two pottered around. Maria tidied up the apartment and cleaned up the blood stained floor as best as they could with no cleaning supplies, just towels and water. Clint got them all glasses of water and set about making oatmeal on his little camp stove. He detested oatmeal, but it was a food that was easy to carry around and was shelf stable, so he didn’t have to worry about it going bad. Plus a lot of kids like oatmeal, right? He hoped Nat did. They couldn’t exactly pop out to the shops.</p><p>The longer the Americans stayed in the country, the more chances they had at getting found out from locals, either members of the KGB or any other agencies spread across Russia. The jet had hardly been subtle, and though it was cloaked, all it took was one person to run face first into it and then they’d have authorities on their asses and their way out surrounded.</p><p>Despite knowing they didn’t have a whole lot of time, Clint did his best to not appear like they were rushing anything, trying to focus on the oatmeal and not the frantic thoughts in his head. Would Nat come with them? Would their jet be discovered? Were ex-Red Room personnel sniffing around? So many questions, none they had answers for.</p><p>Dear God, Clint hoped Nat came with them.</p><p>He wouldn’t force her. Wouldn’t knock her out or drag her kicking and screaming to the jet. It would be her choice, her decision, one of the only ones she’d ever been able to make for herself. Honestly though, if she didn’t want to come, Clint was seriously considering staying there with her. He absolutely, one hundred percent, did /not/ want to leave her there her alone.</p><p>After all, he’d already come to the realization she would likely not live another year if left there alone. He was shit at Russian, had barely any belongings on him, but he would make it work. Phil could transfer his pay over to him, he could find somewhere to live if she didn’t want him in her apartment, Maria could fly over every once in a while.</p><p>He was not leaving her alone. Not in America, not in Russia, not anywhere in the world. The only reason he would ever leave was if she straight up told him to. And then, he would likely send agents to keep a look out, to check on her periodically. He couldn’t just leave her die.</p><p>He wouldn’t. </p><p>It was only when a warm bowl of oatmeal was wafted under Nat’s nose that she lifted her head from her bear. She sniffled a little and looked up at Clint with red rimmed but still tearless eyes. She rubbed at her face, a little flush across her cheeks, embarrassed. </p><p>Clint just smiled at her. “Breakfast.” He said softly. “I hope you like peaches and cream.”</p><p>Nat looked at the bowl and then up at Clint, frowning, brows pulled together. “Peaches and…?” The food she recognised, somewhat. They had oatmeal. It was thick and sticky and usually pretty cold, but it was filling and the taste didn’t matter. But peaches and cream? That existed? You could have flavour to it, have fruit in it?</p><p>She blinked and swallowed, muttering a soft thank you as she tentatively took the bowl from him, leaning in the smell the offered food. Wow, it smelled way better than the one she was used to. It had orange flecks in it, she wondered if that was the peaches part. It smelled fruity and milky and really good. </p><p>“You’re welcome, darlin’.” Clint beamed, “Be careful you don’t burn your poor tongue, alright?” He squeezed her knee and got up from his crouched position to pour out his own breakfast. He’d kill for a coffee and a donut, but oatmeal it was.</p><p>Maria joined him once he was done serving up the other two bowls, taking hers with smile. She glanced over at the girl, Nat taking her first bite of food, eyes wide and marvelling at the taste she wasn’t used to. </p><p>“How?” Maria whispered, so quiet it was basically just moving her lips. How would they convince her to come with them?</p><p>Clint exhaled and shook his head. “I have no idea.”</p><p>…</p><p>When Nat had finished her bowl of oatmeal, Clint and Maria settled on the floor, taking a few bites of their own food but mostly watching the girl. After a few, long, procrastinated mouthfuls, Clint cleared his throat and tried to calm his panic.</p><p>“Nat, love?” He said softly, absently playing with his spoon so his nervous fingers had something to do. Once the girl looked up from rubbing a soft white ear across her cheek, Clint smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way. </p><p>“Okay, so I know you heard me on the phone a little while ago, and I know you’re probably confused about why Maria is here. The thing is, Nat…” God, it was hard to get words out. “We…I, would like you to come back with us. To America. You finished your job and I know there’s always more out there but I’m really worried for you. You’re not well, love, and I know you’re only going to get more sick if you keep this up. There are always jobs back home, but I really think, more than anything, you need a break. A break from all of this, all the fighting, the planning, the getting injured. I can offer that. I can offer a home, and safety, and food and beds and pretty much anything you could ever want.”</p><p>The archer forced himself to pull in a shaky breath, trying not to ramble on and on and overwhelm the girl. “The thing is, Nat…” Clint whispered, “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”</p><p>Nat had grown pretty pale over the course of the minute Clint had been talking, not that she had that much colour to lose anyway, but it was a fairly noticeable difference. Her knuckles were white as she clutched the bunny like her life depended on it. She swallowed thickly, big, fear filled eyes constantly flicking between the other two. “I…” She stammered, “I don’t understand.”</p><p>“This is your choice, Nat.” Maria chimed in, voice achingly soft, “But we would really love if you came back with us. We can protect you, help you. We can get you checked out, looked after, you could drop and have people to play with or someone to watch over you. You can do anything. Read, watch TV, sleep all day, make pancakes. Clint really cares about you already, sweetheart. He and I just want you to be safe.”</p><p>Nat frowned deeply, shivering and rubbing at her forehead as if it hurt. “What if I don’t want to come?” Her voice had lost the childish edge to it, her words were more pronounced. She was still dropped, but she had clearly forced herself to control her voice. </p><p>“Then you don’t come.” Clint said honestly, bluntly. “I won’t promise I won’t keep an eye on you. Hell, I might stay in Russia too, but the only way you get on that jet is if you want to. No one is going to force you or drag you, or anything. If you don’t want to come, Maria takes the jet home by herself.”</p><p>Clearly confused and overwhelmed, Nat rubbed harder at her temples. “I don’t…What if…” She stuttered, biting down on her lip to stop the fragmented words being uttered. <em>Decorum, Natalia</em>. She took a breath, visibly shaking. </p><p>Clint sat, unable to take his own breath, because it seemed like the girl had made a decision already. He braced himself, both him and his little side alike. He was waiting for the no, waiting for the panic or the tears, waiting for her to try and run, waiting waiting waiting for something bad to happen.</p><p>Instead, in a whispered and shaking tone, Nat said, “okay.”</p><p>Clint sucked in a breath so fast he felt dizzy, his ears rang a little bit, he couldn’t quite find his voice. Stunned and surprised, he sat there silent. He’d been so sure she would say no, he’d made himself face the fact that she wouldn’t come with them, he’d shut down his little side so he didn’t drop out of pure sadness and anxiety at her refusing, of the truths he’d already realized, that she wouldn’t survive through the year.</p><p>Luckily, as always, Maria took over for him. She clasped her hands and loosened her shoulders to seem less threatening. She smiled, more a grin. “Okay? You’re sure?”</p><p>Nat swallowed, pressed one cheek to the fur of her stuffie, and nodded. “Okay.”</p><p>“Okay.” Clint breathed, squeezing his shut for a moment. “Okay.”</p><p>Nat let out a soft little giggle that surprised both adults. “Okay.” She smiled shyly, clearly thinking it was some sort of game and not Clint’s inability to talk. Who was he to let her down?</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Okay!”</p><p>Yeah, it was okay.</p><p>…</p><p>The time after ‘okay’ and getting to the jet went both very quickly and very slow.</p><p>Clint had been too excited to finish his oatmeal, and Nat was more than happy to eat the leftovers. As she ate, Maria had asked her if there was anything she wanted to pack up and bring with her. In the end, they’d only partly filled one brown shopping bag, with mainly clothes and an odd notebook or beauty item (if a single comb and an old toothbrush counted as beauty items). The only thing left she wanted was her black mission bag, far more full and heavier than the brown bag. It exclusively held weapons of all different kinds.</p><p>Maria had been pretty upset at seeing the difference in the bags. Clothes and a comb weren’t personal, they weren’t trinkets or nice things she’d collected, they weren’t toys or activities or comfort items. She had none of those things, just a big bag of weapons and that was so telling of all the girl had gone through and what she thought of herself and what she deserved or even needed or wanted.</p><p>The agent vowed she would buy literally anything Nat wanted. If she wanted books or more stuffies or little clothes or a pacifier or a blanket, Maria would get it for her. If Nat wanted to go out exploring, if she wanted to collect rocks or feathers from the ground, if she wanted to traipse around the store for hours looking at all the different things, Maria would go with her. If Nat wanted to nap or play or read a story, Maria would be there for that. </p><p>Maria was a rare anomaly at Shield, pretty much perfectly split down the middle, half big, half little. Both sides of her tried to vie for her full attention, both excited about the new prospects. Little Maria wanted to play with Nat, wanted to run around and play tag, share milk and cookies in the break room, spread out her colouring books for the pair of them. Big Maria wanted to wrap her in blankets and rock her to sleep, wanted to stroke Nat’s hair and read a story to her, wanted to hold her hand when they crossed the street, wanted to take her to the park and introduce her to others her age.</p><p>Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on how she looked at it, big Maria was very much in control, in charge. She would never ever ever subject Nat to her own rather powerful feelings, not then, maybe not ever. If Nat wanted a friend or someone to keep an eye on her, maybe even look after her, only then would Maria open her heart to her selves possibilities. In the meantime, she would be a good big, would help in a professional capacity. </p><p>Maria could help her with food, with packing stuff for her, with messing around with the bunny and voices for her, but she would not be a friend or a caregiver. She would basically be a babysitter. They would have so much time for that stuff later on. It wasn’t fair for her to put any of that on an already overwhelmed girl, that would probably even be as bad as manipulating her. She couldn’t control how she felt, how protective she felt, but she could control if she hid it from the girl or not, and she would be doing that.</p><p>That couldn’t quite stop her little half whispering in the back of her mind about how great a friend she could be.</p><p>With Nat’s seldom belongings packed up, they were pretty much ready to go. Clint’s bag was over his shoulder and Maria held Nat’s two bags. After a glance around the apartment, as if saying goodbye, Nat offered a weak and watery smile. “Okay.”</p><p>Before they could leave though, Nat pointed at the pocket of her black bag and after rummaging around in it, Maria came up with an envelope and handed it to the girl. Nat grabbed a pen from the table and scrawled a note in Russian across the paper and placed the envelope on the table.</p><p>“Money.” She explained, and Maria understood. For the landlord, or whoever she was renting it from. There had to be months of rent in there, and she was leaving it all for whoever the apartment belonged to, because she didn’t want that person to be out of pocket after her disappearing act.</p><p>“Ready?” Clint asked, unable to stop himself from smiling so much. He still couldn’t believe she was coming with them.</p><p>“Ready.” Nat breathed, pulling in a big breath, trying to calm her racing heart, her mind so full of different thoughts and feelings it was hard to think. </p><p>When Nat went to slide her legs off the couch, she encountered a problem. Lower lip wobbling a little, she looked up with watery eyes at the standing pair. “Leg.” She whispered.</p><p>“That’s okay, love, we can help. We can get you up and you can hop, I guess, but that will take time and might hurt you. Maria or I can pick you up? That would be easier and quicker, but it’s totally your decision, darlin’, whatever you’re comfortable with.” Clint smiled.</p><p>Nat looked at Maria a little sceptically, like she didn’t believe the agent could pick her up at all. But the redhead would feel way more comfortable if she was to pick her up. Hopping was an option, but not a good one. Tactically, it made no sense. They would be slow and cumbersome and would make quite a show if anyone saw them. Even though she was afraid of someone carrying her, mission wise, it made a lot more sense. </p><p>Still looking at Maria, Nat swallowed hard, not wanting to upset Clint by not wanting to be picked up by him. Would he be mad?</p><p>“I can do it, Nat, you’re only little, I promise I won’t drop you.” Maria smiled softly, coming over to the couch. “Do you want to give it a go? We can stop at anytime.” </p><p>Nat nodded weakly after a few seconds, watching with wide, calculating eyes as Maria handed her bags over to the archer and crouched down. Usually Maria would pick a kid up and have their legs wrap around her waist for security, but with Nat’s injured leg they had to improvise. She scooped the girl up, one arm under knees, the other across her back, picking her up bridal style. Maria was strong, and Nat was surprisingly light, despite being all long limbs and lithe muscle. “Okie dokie.” Maria said brightly, “there we go.”</p><p>…</p><p>The three entered the quinjet with more ease than any of them had been expected. They’d gotten a few strange looks but no one had stopped them, no one was following them, and Maria had been able to carry the girl the whole way there. They stepped up the ramp and Clint headed to the controls. Nat watched as the ramp closed on her home country and opened her to new and exciting and scary possibilities.</p><p>They had to x-ray her leg, but they had a fairly long flight ahead of them, so there was time to get the girl settled first.</p><p>As Clint went into the cockpit, Maria took a seat, moving to gently deposit Nat onto the seat beside her. But Nat had different ideas, fingers curling around Maria’s shirt, face ducking to press against her shoulder. In the soft hum of the quinjet, Nat held onto Maria, unable to control herself to the extent she had been, and she finally began to cry. </p><p>…</p><p>Nat had fallen asleep a little while later, Clint had told Maria how exhausted the girl was, and how sick her body seemed to be, so it wasn’t surprising that she’d fallen asleep, but it was surprising that the girl had allowed it to happen.</p><p>Something about holding the sleeping girl had made Maria sleepy too. She didn’t need to drop, so it wasn’t that, but she definitely was feeling some weird emotions going on. Arms wrapped carefully around Nat, Maria had eventually drifted off to the soft sounds of the jet flying and the girl on her lap breathing.</p><p>It couldn’t have been long before Maria was jolting awake to the sound of screaming.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The trip home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys. I know it’s been a long time. I’m not gonna bore anyone but I am gonna apologise for leaving for so long. I’ve been pretty sick and still am. (For newbies the long story short is I suffer from multiple chronic illnesses and have recently completely relapsed, I also have mental health issues and whilst it makes writing about them easier with experience, the winter always kicks my ass and I’m not doing so hot there either). This chapter…oh man this chapter. It’s taken me about 20 separate times to finally get this done. It’s been a long road for this chapter, I can normally bash them out in a few days but now with my health bad I can’t. </p><p>I have a lot of fics to update so I’m not sure how long you guys will be waiting for another chapter of this one and I am really sorry. I hope you like it anyways, despite it being different I love writing and this fic and I still put my all into it. Brain fog is real ya’ll so there may be a few more mistakes than usual, if you see a spelling error please lemme know, I don’t have a beta. I’m hoping to have other fic chapters up soon but please don’t hold out hope it’ll be quick.<br/>Second, if you’ve read any of my other stories you know that Maria and Nat are best friends and sisters and are very close. But if this is your first fic you’re seeing from me, to clear up any confusion, even though this is an AU, their relationship hasn’t changed. It’s intensified in this fic because it’s all new and strong feeling are involved but they are not romantically together and won’t be, they will just learn to love each other and grow a bond as sisters and as Maria being an aunt/caregiver to lil Natty.</p><p>TW’s are the same as always with extra nasty Red Room stuff and a form of self harm so be careful, loves.</p><p>Anyway, I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <em>Natalia walked down the hallway. The few girls left in the programme watched her from the left side and Madame and Dmitry watched from the right. They stared at her, like she was on show, but wasn’t she always? They all knew where she was headed, what the door at the end of the hall meant for her. </em>
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  <em>She was the oldest of the girls she came in with to survive, and it was time for her first test.</em>
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  <em>The day held three tests. Three tests and then the graduation ceremony, should she survive the last test, she would have her surgery. She would never have children, because they were the one thing a person would care about more than the job. She would never have a partner, unless it was pretend, she would have sex, but that was all. She would have the one last thing she had taken away from her. Then she would be ready to enter the world. She had no place in the world, never would, but she had a job to do.</em>
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  <em>In front of the red door at the end of the hallway that haunted the girl’s nightmares, Madame stepped up behind her. Her hand settled on Natalia’s shoulder and her ice-cold voice filtered through the racing thoughts in the girl’s head.</em>
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  <em>“Go on now, Natalia, it’s your time.”</em>
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  <em>Test one: seduce, put on a show, sleep with the client, do everything they wanted, wait to be marked by them. If she succeeded, she would move on. She would be graded on performance, showmanship, listening skills, dancing skills, on acting correctly, on how quickly she changed ages for them, on how well she treated them, on how pretty or cute or sexy she was, on her outifts, on her voice and tone, on her words, on every single thing possible.</em>
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  <em>Test two: torture, get the information, keep her cool, finish the job when it was done. There had been rumours of the marks brought in, how they were kids, or mothers or littles, chosen specifically to be harder to kill mentally than an average man. Still, she would do it, no questions asked.</em>
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  <em>Test three: fight, stab, shoot, kill, survive. A group of highly trained agents, lethal, deadly, and she would have to put down all of them. Either she would leave the room, all the others dead, or she would die by their hands. </em>
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  <em>Madame pushed her roughly to the door when the girl stood there, frozen, and Natalia twisted the handle and entered the room. The red door locked behind her, and she was left alone with her client. </em>
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  <em>The man with the sandy hair stepped towards her, face twisted into an approximation of a smile, held a hand out to her. “Come here, darlin’.”</em>
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  <em>It was time.</em>
</p><p>Nat woke up screaming. </p><p>Footsteps reached her ears and her glazed, panicked gaze lifted to the man in front of her. It was him, from her dream, holding out his hand with glee on his face, nickname drawled from poisoned lips. Sandy hair, calloused fingers, blue eyes.</p><p>“Nat-“ The man took a step forward, holding his hands up, but Natalia didn’t care. She would crush him. She was nobody’s fucking toy, fuck the tests, fuck her job, fuck her life, she was done.</p><p>She knew, in the back of her mind, that she shouldn’t be close to attacking him. However, in that confused and dazed moment, Nat thought it was because she was supposed to sleep with him instead, not that he was a friend. She didn’t have any friends, Natalia was alone in the world, and she was fucking sick of doing what she was told.</p><p>The redhead began to stalk towards Clint, eyes glazed and completely in a different place, a different time, a different life. The man took a small step back, hands still held up in surrender, eyes sliding to Maria, standing behind the girl. The older agent really, really, and again, really, did not want to end up having to tackle Nat or pull her away from the archer. </p><p>Touching someone when they were like that, would likely only end badly, but Maria could tell that Clint had already made up his mind to not fight back if it came to it. And the agent couldn’t exactly sit back and let anyone get even more hurt, but it wouldn’t be an easy decision to make.</p><p>Nat continued advancing on Clint, until his back was against the wall of the jet and there was nowhere else to go. He swallowed thickly, clearing his throat, “Nat, please, I’m not gonna hurt you. You don’t have to do this.”</p><p>And then the girl wasn’t moving slow anymore because within mere seconds, she had Clint pinned against the wall, arm across his throat. “Don’t tell me what to do.” Nat snarled, putting enough pressure on his neck, that he couldn’t have said anything, let alone tell her what to do.</p><p>“Nat-“ Maria warned from behind the girl, “I really don’t want to hurt you, but you need to let him go. I know you’re confused, and saw something awful before you woke up, but whatever it was…it’s not real anymore, love. Clint is your friend, remember? He’s helping you, we both are, we’re taking you home.” </p><p>Clint’s breathing wasn’t completely cut off, but he was pulling in slightly more rapid breaths, that likely had more to do with panic than Nat’s arm. That was odd in itself, they were trained to be in that position, and Clint never panicked in a situation like the one he was in. </p><p>Maria hoped to God he wasn’t about to drop.</p><p>“Nat, you’re going to hurt him if you don’t let go. Please, sweetheart, we don’t need anyone hurt anymore.” Maria said quietly, cautiously stepping until she was closer to the girl but still not touching. “Your leg must be hurting, huh? Why don’t we sit down?”</p><p>And then, just as quickly as she had pressed Clint up against the wall, Nat was spinning and levelling her attention on Maria instead. Without warning, her hands were pushing the agent back and as she stumbled a little, Natasha advanced.</p><p>Except this time, something seemed to click, and the girl slammed to a stop, brows pulling together. </p><p>Maria held her hands up, just like Clint had, except this time Nat didn’t automatically take that as an attack signal. Except, in The Red Room, they didn’t have surrender. There were no words to be said, no position, no signal, that allowed anyone to stop fighting. Broken pleas, bloody lips, begging and hysterical crying, did nothing. They were not allowed to stop or back away from a fight, not ever. So, the girl didn’t understand or know that the hands held up meant surrender either.</p><p>Instead, it just confused the fuck out of her. Even more confused than she thought she could get after everything.</p><p>Nat tilted her head, frowning deeply, watery eyes flicking between the other two, and their show of passiveness. Slowly, far too slowly, realization began to trickle through her mind. She hadn’t attacked a client or a mark, she had attacked her…friend. Both of them, actually, if Maria could be considered one. Nat definitely did not know what friend meant, she might have had one a long time ago but couldn’t even begin to figure out the basics of what it entailed.</p><p>“I…I’m so sorry.” The girl whispered, stumbling backwards away from the pair, not even registering the pain of her injured leg. She pressed her back to the wall, trying to pull in frantic breaths. That sort of thing should have made a little age up, but Nat was anything but a ‘normal’ little girl, and panic drops were far heavier, paid a bigger toll, were so much harder to get out of. In fact, instead of aging up, Nat was hazily aware that her brain was too fuzzy to be good, the kind of fuzzy that always terrified her because it meant she was falling even further.</p><p>When she dropped low, when she was forced down in age, things were different. That was one reason she had stopped herself truly dropping to the age the client wanted, because tiny Nat came with big problems. She couldn’t talk most of the time, struggled to support her own body, to walk, was completely vulnerable and defenceless. And don’t even mention panic dropping into baby Nat, that was horrific and terrifying and an all round awful experience, she wouldn’t be able to even begin to age up to a toddler until days later. She was in the hands of someone who wanted disgusting things from her, who could kill her in seconds, and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it anyways, let alone at her lowest age. </p><p>So Nat forced it away. </p><p>She pushed the baby aside, trampled her down into a dark corner of her mind, locked a door behind her and wrapped the handle in chains. Swallowing, Nat slowly lifted her head, and promptly began to have one hell of a panic attack.</p><p>Her legs immediately gave out on her and the girl went crashing to the floor, unfortunately right on top of her injured leg. The bandages wrapped around her thigh already began to turn splotchy red with blood, stitches ripped open by the velocity of Nat’s fall and over-extended use of the leg during the flashbacks. The girl definitely did not even register the pain at all, instead her nails dug into her knees, causing more damage, but still, out of all the emotions shadowing Nat’s face, pain was not among them.</p><p>Nat inched back, pressing against the wall, her hands sliding into her hair, wrapping around strands and tugging on them. Her green eyes, normally so bright, were hazy, her stare unfocused, either seeing nothing or something only the girl was privy too. She hadn’t exactly had a lot of colour in her face to begin with, not with the shock and blood loss and nightmare, but any sign of pink drained away. Nat’s teeth clashed together as her entire body shook with a desperate attempt to get air, already looking close to passing out again.</p><p>Clint and Maria sprung into action. They didn’t have time to waste, the little girl’s body was already pushed to the brink, vital functions affected by all the physical and mental trauma. Nat had already passed out once and her leg was bleeding again, not as heavy as it originally had been but enough that Clint was close to panicking himself because they didn’t have any blood on the jet and she was already so weak, maybe even close to hypovolemic shock.</p><p>There was no telling what one more stressor, one more push, one more mistake would do to the girl who was supposed to be safe in his hands.</p><p>Maria quickly got down onto the floor, muttering softly in what little Russian Bobbi had taught her. The agent wasn’t exactly fluent, so English had to be tossed in there, but essentially she was trying to convey that the girl was okay and asking if she could touch her, if she could help.</p><p>Nat couldn’t have given a more clear answer, because before Maria had even stopped talking, she was reaching for the woman. Her fingers dropped from her hair, instead clutching the front of Maria’s jacket, her weakened limbs trying to push close, trying to hide against the woman, trying to hang on for dear life.</p><p>Clint had quickly found a blanket, crouching to gently wrap it around the girl’s shoulders, his trembling fingers oh so carefully and softly trailing over her hair. Her leg was bleeding quite a lot but there was no way the girl was in a position to have it looked at so for the time being, the archer pressed his hand down over the bandages, trying to halt the bleeding as much as her could. </p><p>Nat whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut, her breaths less forceful, but not in the good ‘oh the panic attack is slowing’ kind of way, more in the ‘my body can’t take anymore I’m going to faint’ way. </p><p>The girl’s numbed fingers slid from Maria’s jacket to the hollow of the woman’s collarbone, palm flat against the exposed skin. Quickly realizing that Nat needed skin to skin contact, she needed warmth, she needed grounding, Maria shrugged off her jacket so Nat could stretch her fingers out, and the agent placed one of her hands atop the little’s.</p><p>Jesus Christ, Maria Hill was pretty sure her heart would burst. People always went on about love at first sight, especially between littles and bigs, their connections were so strong. She hadn’t believed in it until an amazingly tall, blonde, beautiful woman walked through the doors to the training room and Maria’s heart had come to a stop. That was the connection of Maria’s little side and Bobbi’s exclusively big status. Now, however, the agent was pretty damn sure her big side had connected with the adorable, sweet little Nat. Ah, hell, Clint wasn’t the only one who was a goner.</p><p>…</p><p>Nat was desperately, hopelessly confused, and lost, and so scared her body felt like it was on fire, her heart hammering so fast it would leap out her chest, her vision so hazy the edges were blurred. Her mind was screaming at her, her ears full of static, her entire being fuzzy and hazy and trembling.</p><p>“Breathe, sweetheart, nice and slow, you’re okay.” A voice murmured against her ear, fingertips ghosted over her hair. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t, didn’t they get it? She couldn’t, not anymore, she couldn’t-</p><p>“Nat, Nat, sweetheart, hey-“ </p><p>Without intending to, Nat curled her unoccupied fingers into a fist and brought it up and against her temple with such ferocity her head flew to the side. Suddenly she could breathe, and she pulled in a heaving, gasping lungful of air. She was so dizzy, anything she could see was blurred and watery but she could finally breathe, just a little. She needed to do it again, she had to breathe to live, she couldn’t just stop breathing, she would die and-</p><p>Fingers curled around hers as she tried to copy the movement again, as she tried to clench her fist, as she tried to hit her head again. She wasn’t even sure if the action was conscious, everything was so confusing and scary and she needed control, any control, just a little, it had helped, she needed help.</p><p>“Please,” A voice pleaded, “please, you’re okay, look at me.”</p><p>A low, supposed to be threatening growl, left Nat’s lips and her fingers curled in on themselves so hard her nails dug into her palm as she tried to get her hand free from whatever was holding it away from her head. Cloudy eyes lifted to the offender; sandy hair and blue eyes. Why was he stopping her?</p><p>"Sweetheart, breathe. You're okay. You're okay, I promise. You're not there anymore." Maria whispered, pulling her eyes from Clint's stricken face to the girl's hidden one. </p><p>The redhead had had her own face very firmly burrowed against Maria’s shoulder but now she was looking at the pair. Maria hadn’t even been able to see a sliver of her face, but the agent hadn’t needed to see her face to know she was crying. Now her face was uncovered, the agents could see the tear tracks and shiny cheeks, the red rimmed eyes.</p><p>Clint had mentioned when Nat was napping on the couch in the apartment and Maria had turned up that all through it, the girl hadn't cried once. Not when she'd horrifically been triggered into a drop, not when she'd had an arrow shot straight through her leg, not when she'd gotten sick and had passed out. Apparently the closest she'd come to crying had been over the candy bar. Until they'd gotten in the air in the quinjet, that was.</p><p>It seemed that Nat had gotten completely overwhelmed with everything and was reacting just as any other kid would. However, Nat had held in her emotions so well and so perfectly that her eventual breakdown had told the other two that the girl had reached breaking point.</p><p>"You're okay." Maria reiterated, gingerly settling a hand on Nat's back, just to let the girl know she wasn't alone, and also because she seemed like the kind of little who needed even more help grounding herself and touch could be quite useful for that. The need the girl had had to touch Maria just proved how much she needed calming, good touches, and not the bad ones she had had her whole life.</p><p>"Just take some deep breaths, darlin'." Clint murmured softly. He wasn't touching the girl, not because he was afraid after she'd come for him, but it was obvious she had been tormented by mainly man in her past and she didn't need to be triggered even further. Plus, he still felt awful for forcing the drop in the first place, guilt climbed through his veins and settled in his stomach. He'd already hurt her so much, he would not cause her any pain again.</p><p>Nat sniffled and rubbed hard at her eyes, like she was trying to push the tears back into her head.</p><p>"Do you want a hug, Sweetheart?" Maria offered softly, hesitantly, not expecting an affirmative answer, if any. But surprisingly, Nat did shuffle closer to Maria and though she didn't say anything, her body language did the talking. Maria gently settled her arms around the girl, somehow not holding tightly or pulling Nat to her like she desperately wanted to.</p><p>"I've got you, sweet girl." Maria murmured against the girl’s hair, very slowly beginning to rock her from side to side. "It's okay to cry. You just let it out. It's okay." She reassured softly, resting her chin on Nat's head, catching Clint's gaze as the cry cried into her shirt.</p><p>Own eyes watery and jaw clenched, Clint offered a tiny smile in response as he straightened out his legs and leaned against the wall, letting autopilot take them a little closer home before he would have to get up to navigate. </p><p>Him and Maria had it sorted. Right???</p><p>...</p><p>About half an hour of cuddles and soft words of encouragement later, Nat had settled some. She wasn't sleeping, it seemed like she was too afraid of that, and after the nightmares and flashbacks that was fair enough. But she was definitely more relaxed. She'd stopped crying and had fully curled into Maria's body.</p><p>Her eyes were open and not really looking at anything, but she was calm, head resting on Maria's shoulder, her arms tucked around herself.</p><p>When things had completely died down, Clint had gone back to the controls to ensure a smoother ride and to ensure his presence didn’t trigger the girl again, but he was constantly looking over his shoulder to check on Nat. It was clear to Maria that the archer had very quickly formed a strong bond with the girl. She honestly hadn't thought she would ever see something like that with Clint and he hadn't ever envisioned a relationship like that either.</p><p>There was a spark, an invisible thread between them. Clint was trying so hard to hide his feelings on it but Maria liked to think she knew him pretty well. He was completely ensnared, pulled towards her, and it seemed, her to him too.<br/>
Maria prayed with every fibre of her being, to powers she had never believed in, that it would end well.</p><p>...</p><p>Clint and Maria would normally have switched over pilot duties during the middle of the trip, but the archer had taken one look at the pair of curled up women and had refused to entertain the idea of Maria taking over. Nat was comfortable, she was warm, she felt safe, and that was all that mattered.</p><p>Maria had to have been in pain or uncomfortable at the very least, but she just minutely moved and switched positions every so often without letting go or jostling the girl. The older agent was so fucking tender and sweet, Clint could hardly believe it. She was half caregiver, but just as she hadn't seen anything like that with Clint, he had seldom seen something like that with Maria.</p><p>It seemed they were both surprising themselves and each other with the intensity of their feelings.</p><p>Both of them spent the rest of the flight ruminating on that, as well as thinking through exactly what to do when they landed. Phil hadn't quite signed off on her departure. More like, Maria had gotten Bobbi involved to distract and assist whilst the other agent packed a bag and commandeered a quinjet. She'd turned comms off, turned off locators, left her phone behind.</p><p>Bobbi had promised to get through to Phil, or Nick if she had to play sneaky and go above the other man's head, and Maria trusted in her partner to do just that.</p><p>She wasn't expecting a warm reunion but she sure as shit hoped Phil didn't turn up at the landing deck with the cavalry behind him.</p><p>When the jet landed, Clint stood and headed into the back, watching the girls for a few seconds. Eventually though, they had to get ready to move before their safe haven got invaded.</p><p>It was time.</p><p>…</p><p>They couldn't wait in the hangar forever and besides, Maria was pretty sure she would fight a whole army for the girl in her lap in that moment, so she wouldn't just hide away. Instead of shifting Nat or moving her off, Maria just carefully stood and settled the little on her hip.</p><p>She paid careful mind to Nat's injured and now bleeding again leg, keeping one of her hands firmly under the girl's thigh to support it and keep it still.</p><p>"Okay, sweetheart, now this is probably going to be scary and overwhelming but I'll tell you a little secret, mkay? Phil seems big and scary, but he's a massive teddy bear and he lets Clint get away with anything." Maria hummed, bouncing the girl a little to try and help settle her. "But if you get scared or worried, you just put your head on my shoulder and close your eyes. Okay?"</p><p>Nat sniffled, thumb having found it's way back into her mouth and was currently being sucked on enough that her finger was going to get pruny very quickly. She didn't speak but nodded a little, the fingers of her free hand curled around Maria's shirt again, she seemed to feel safer doing so so it was all good by Maria.</p><p>"We're gonna get you out of there and somewhere nice and safe as soon as we can." Clint assured her, trying to keep his expression neutral and not reveal the churning panic raging havoc on his body. He was beyond scared. Maria had said Phil let Clint get away with anything and that was true, on most things, but the archer was pretty sure Phil wouldn't just forgive and forget bringing home the Russian spy/stray/murderer/assassin/surprise little he was supposed to have killed.</p><p>After a small nod from Maria, Clint pressed the button to bring the ramp down. He clenched his fingers, slid his bow onto his back and headed out to the hangar.</p><p>Maria held Nat tight as they followed suit, the agent knowing she would do absolutely anything to protect the girl they had so quickly fallen in love with. </p><p>As predicted, Phil was waiting for them, and he wasn't waiting alone. He had a team with him, and not just one of the run the mill ones, the strike team. And standing off to the side, looking sheepish and embarrassed, was Bobbi.</p><p>She met Maria's gaze, and looked completely forlorn and apologetic, but it wasn't Bobbi's fault. She had distracted Phil long enough for Maria to sneak away and had fiddled with the control room to stop tracking from working until it would be too late to follow, what happened after was no one's fault but Maria's, in her eyes. And probably Clint's, actually. It was obvious now that nothing Bobbi could have said to Coulson was going to soften the blow or convince him or get though to him.</p><p><br/>
Walking over to Phil felt very much like Clint and Maria had just been drawing on the walls or had 'accidentally' blown up one of the agent's suits again. They weren't dropped, but man did they feel like chastised children about to be scolded.</p><p>For once, Clint didn't great his handler with a smile or a quip or smartass comment, he just stood in front of him, squared his shoulders, locked his jaw and said "I'm not sorry."</p><p>Something in Coulson's jaw twitched. "I can see that, Agent Barton." And yeah it was bad if he was suddenly Agent Barton. "Hill."</p><p>"Agent Coulson." Maria said mildly, rubbing the hand not currently holding Nat's leg still, up the girl's back. Her gaze was defiant and determined, not exactly confrontational but the energy behind her eyes said she was willing to go all out.</p><p>"And?" Phil was looking right at Nat. He knew her name, obviously, but he was clearly trying to gauge the threat level.</p><p>Instead of tucking her face into Maria's neck and refusing to talk, Nat took a shaky breath and lifted her head. She looked up at Phil, thumb sliding out of her mouth. "Natal...Nat, it's nice to meet you, sir." She said politely. “And thank you for the soup, Mister Coulson.”</p><p>"Are you going to lock us up or can we get her to the med wing?" Clint asked, snarky and clipped, his stomach twisting at the way the girl had talked. It was almost robotic, saying what she had to do to get in the least amount of trouble as possible.</p><p>"I'm not sure I should be letting you go anywhere, especially not somewhere with medical equipment and vulnerable agents." Phil gestured vaguely at Nat, the little girl's eyes hyper focused on him.</p><p>Clint raised an eyebrow at his handler, gaze very firmly telling him that he was out of order. He understood Phil was more worried for Clint and Maria than he was angry at his agent bringing his kill order back with him. But that didn't make what Phil was saying okay. Nat was a child. A scared, triggered, traumatised, child.</p><p>Clint had gone toe to toe with Coulson many times, always had. Ever since his handler sent a lackey to the circus and every night show for that next week, the man in the smart black suit lurked in the bleachers watching him, he had been a permanent pain in the older man's ass. Usually it was fairly harmless disagreements; who ate the last yoghurt in the fridge, why couldn't Clint take his fire arrows with him to a conference meeting, why couldn't little Clint climb through the events, land in the dining hall, steal an armful of chocolate pudding and make himself sick eating it all. This felt...big. Bigger than any argument they'd had before, something that could quite possibly the end of their relationship outside of work hours.</p><p>Clint actually felt very nauseous about the idea of that happening. But despite the turmoil and the panicked voice of his younger self in his head, Clint's decision was made and had been since a scared little girl had dropped in front of his very eyes.</p><p>"Well either you let us go to the med bay or I get back on the jet and go to another hospital." Clint said, not just his voice a threat, his body coiled tight. He really would just make a run for it if he needed to. Nat needed at least more stitches and preferably some blood and glucose before she got sicker, so Clint wasn't going to stand there and be forced away from the girl and for her to be thrown in lock up, terrified and seriously injured.</p><p>"Well you'll have a pilot to take you." Maria said firmly, gaze unwavering as she stared at their superior. </p><p>"And a trained medic." Bobbi chimed in, pushing through the line of agents to come and stand next to her girlfriend, arms crossed over her chest. Maria shot her a small smile as Bobbi pressed a hand to the woman's back. </p><p>In theory, a blood splattered and dishevelled archer, a tall blonde with a lab coat on and a woman holding a girl on her hip shouldn't have been more threatening than their boss and a strike team kitted up to the nines with weapons, but...they definitely were. And Coulson knew it.</p><p>The agent's jaw twitched again. "Fine. But Agent Morse goes back to her actual job and two agents follow your every move."</p><p>"Good choice," Clint hummed and then as an afterthought, "sir."</p><p>"And when...Nat is stable, we're going to have a long long chat and your friend will go nowhere alone and one wrong move..." Phil paused and seemed to change his mind about threatening the girl, leaving the ending open but also not needing to finish it for the others to know what he had been going to say.</p><p>"Understood." Clint muttered, turning his back and immediately turning his solemn expression into a smile. "Okay, darlin'," he said in a soft, happy voice, "We're gonna get your ouchies all sorted and feeling better and you can lay down and get all comfy." He smiled, running his thumb over her cheek. </p><p>Maria hummed softly, bouncing the little girl and cooing softly as Nat craned her head back to look for reassurance from Maria that it was all okay. "I'm not going to leave you, sweetheart, okay? Clint and I will be with you the whole time and no one," the agent shot a dark look over at the strike team, "is going to lay a finger on you." </p><p>"Okay." Nat breathed shakily. Her eyes shifted to Bobbi and whether it was because the girl knew Maria trusted Bobbi or she could tell the blonde was a full big or any other reason, Nat continued to watch her. </p><p>The little carefully and slowly reached out a hand, hovered over the other woman's cheek without touching. Just as she seemed ready to not continue the movement and pull back, Bobbi placed her hand over Nat's against her cheek. </p><p>"Hi, Nat, it's so great to meet you." Bobbi smiled, her eyes misty as she leaned into their shared touch. </p><p>Nat flushed and slowly retracted her hand, thumb sliding into her mouth again as her head tiredly dropped down to Maria's shoulder.</p><p>"Okay, sleepy bug, let's go get you all settled and feeling better." Clint murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "That sound good, darlin'?"</p><p>Nat didn't speak but nodded, hand once more wrapped around Maria's shirt. </p><p>To her, that sounded amazing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for sticking with me and reading! I appreciate ya'll so much &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Maybe leave me a comment and lemme know what you thought. Thanks for reading! See you soon &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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